


Brotherhood

by tanarill



Series: Making History [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Advice, Alchemy, Alcohol, All Saints' Day, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Anger, Apple of Eden (Assassin's Creed), Armor, Assassin Den, Assassination Plot(s), Atheist Character, Attempted Mind Control, BAMF Women, Bad Cooking, Bathing/Washing, Battle, Beds, Bible, Blackmail, Blacksmithing, Board Games, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Breeding, Broken Bones, Broken Hearts, Brother-Sister Relationships, Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Celebrations, Character of Faith, Cheating, Cheese, Chess, Children, Choices, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Dinner, Churches & Cathedrals, Cleaning, Clocks, Cold Weather, Computer Programming, Computers, Consensual Mind Control, Consent, Consent Issues, Conversations, Cooking, Crucifixion, Crushes, Death, Debt, Dessert & Sweets, Doctors & Physicians, Drugs, Dysfunctional Family, Eagle Vision (Assassin's Creed), Easter, Education, Ethical Dilemmas, Extremely Dubious Consent, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Flirting, Food Trucks, Free Will, Friendship, Furniture Shopping, Games, Ghosts, Good, Grief/Mourning, Gross, Halloween, Harassment, Hero Worship, Hidden Blades, Hiding in Plain Sight, Holy Week, Honesty, Honey, Horses, Hugs, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infection, Infiltration, Inflation, Inns, Insanity, Italiano | Italian, Jewish Character, Juno is a bitch, Kidnapping, Language Barrier, Languages and Linguistics, Lent, Letters, Lies, Love, Love Triangles, Major Illness, Mathematics, Medicine, Medieval Medicine, Meet the Family, Memories, Mercenaries, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mistakes, Money, Monks, Monteriggioni, Morals, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Murder, Nuns, Office, On the Run, Past Child Abuse, Past Mind Control, Pickpockets, Pieces of Eden, Plague, Plans, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prayer, Pregnancy, Prisoner of War, Prophets, Prostitution, Protective Older Brothers, Public Relations, Punching, Questions, Reading, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Recruitment, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Restorations, Revelations, Roma | Rome, Rumors, Running Away, Secrets, Singing, Sins, Slavery, Sleep, Smile, Soap, Souls, Soup, Sparring, Spies & Secret Agents, Stalking, Storytelling, Surveillance, Swimming, Swordfighting, Tails, Talking To Dead People, Taxes, Teenagers, Temporal Paradox, The Romans, Theology, Thieves Guild, Time Travel, Training, Translation, Travel, Trust Issues, Truth, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Uniforms, Unrequited Crush, Vaccines, Wakes & Funerals, Water, Weapons, William Miles' A+ Parenting, Writing, apprentices, camouflage, child labor laws, crop rotation, exercise, farm, harvest, infrastructure, medieval warfare, meetings, people being people, popes, rithmomacy, rule 1, street gangs, villa auditore, عربي | Arabic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-04-06 06:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19057123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanarill/pseuds/tanarill
Summary: Desmond made a choice. Ezio woke up with a ghost.





	1. Endings and Beginnings

Desmond woke up, which was the first strange thing.

Desmond didn't recognize the room, which was the second strange thing. It wasn't the Vault, which could only be an improvement, but in the unexpected event of his survival, that was where he would have expected to wake up.

Desmond was lying in someone else, which was the third strange thing. It was so strange, in fact, that he let out a shriek and was halfway across the room before his brain had time to inform him that he didn't seem to be interacting with the person at all, despite, as far as he could tell, occupying the same space.

The shriek woke up one of the people in the bed, who _also_ got halfway across the room, attacking, before visibly noticing that he was unarmed and incidentally naked. There was a moment when he considered going for his weapons, but then he shrugged and punched Desmond.

"Wait wait wait," said Desmond, but it was too late; Ezio's punch was well-formed and well-placed, and would have dropped him for sure if it had connected. It didn't, as it turned out. Ezio's fist passed straight through him, followed by Ezio's body, which had been expecting more resistance than none. He caught himself before falling, and then the _other_ person in the bed said, "Ezio? Cosa stai facendo?"

"Non lo so," replied Ezio, and _oh shit_ , there was no Animus handily providing translation for him. Desmond didn't speak Italian; Ezio didn't speak English; and that was _Caterina Sforza_ sitting up in bed over there, which meant that today was the day -

"Armor!" said Desmond. "Shit. Er. Veste? Spada? Come on, get _dressed_!" He pointed at the pile of discarded weapons and armor on the floor.

"Non puoi pensare che io sia di nuovo pronto," said Caterina, and flopped back down.

"No, no, get up! You need to evacuate the town!"

"Spettro, ci vuoi fare del male?" asked Ezio, cautiously.

Desmond rolled his eyes. "The _Borgia_ vuoi fare del male. Get _up_."

It was quite clear that the only words that Ezio understood were 'Borgia,' 'intend,' and 'male,' but he did get them because his eyes widened and he went right for the armor, _finally_. Desmond went over to point at Caterina's dress.

"Spettro," said Ezio, watching his antics. "Lei ha bisogno di dormire."

Dormire was probably something about sleep. "Le ha bisongno di _evacuate_."

"Evacu . . . are?" asked Ezio.

"Yes. Si. Get her _out of here_."

"Caterina," said Ezio.

"Sono stanca, Auditore. Mi hai sfiancato."

"Perdonami, Caterina. Lo spettro è insistente, e sono preoccupato. Per favore vestiti, amica mia. Per la battaglia."

That got Caterina up again. She searched Ezio's face, then said, "E sia. Ma se questa è la tua idea di una beffa . . . "

They got up and got dressed, and then Ezio went out to go see if there was anything to see. Desmond got his fourth surprise when he got yanked along. Sometimes through things. He wasn't walking or anything; he just seemed to be unable to get more than about ten meters from Ezio. Ezio gave him a look that more or less mirrored how he felt, then crept up silently onto the battlements and took a look. It was night, and the enemy were using shuttered lanterns. No human would have been able to see them, creeping like that in the dark. But Desmond could, and he knew Ezio could also.

"Merda," said Ezio, grimly, surveying the massed forces.

" _Evacu - are_ ," said Desmond. "Your people's lives aren't worth this, and you can't let them get the Apple. Uh. Il Pomme?"

Ezio's eyes went narrow. "La Mela." He turned, decisive.

"Shit shit shit," said Desmond. He knew that look. It was not the look of a man who was going to run away.

 

He didn't. Caterina did, and the townspeople. The few hours' warning he'd been able to give was used to arrange a much more orderly flight than he remembered. Ezio would have sent the Apple with Mario until he stood there shouting "NO NO NO," after which Ezio got the idea. Then he went downstairs and handed the Apple off to Claudia, which . . . was probably the best option, actually. That woman could be vicious, and given that she had just been rudely awakened in the middle of the night and was now going to be homeless at the head of a caravan of refugees, _her people_ , she was certain to be vicious.

Desmond tried to keep out of the way during the actual battle, letting Ezio do his thing without distraction. This wasn't as easy as it sounded, because Ezio was _fast_ , and tended to jink unpredictably. Desmond found he couldn't stay behind Ezio, out of his field of vision. During a lull in the battle, when Ezio was running from one tower to the next, he said, "Smettila di correre, spettro. Stai fermo." This was accompanied by a pointing finger.

Desmond understood stay, and firmo probably meant firm, so he just stood there in the corner for the next little while, as the battle raged through the tower and sometimes him. It seemed to work, though. Ezio seemed to relax now that he wasn't moving, and focus more on the battle.

It was a lost cause from the beginning, of course, but the point was to distract the Borgia army from the fleeing refugees, and that worked well enough. Cesare went straight for Mario, and then, when Mario turned out not to have the Apple, came wheeling around with his cavalry unit to attack Ezio. That gave the defenders some extra time, which they used to finish falling back through the final two towers and into the sanctuary itself, then out through the escape tunnels. In the end, Cesare was left with a Monteriggioni devoid of people or valuables, and also devoid of the Apple and Ezio.

By the time he'd searched, though, he and Ezio and the last defenders were on horses, hours away and getting further as fast as they dared push the animals, drawing the Borgia forces away from the refugees. Desmond had decided to walk, because even if it didn't hurt to be dragged through bushes, it was still super freaky. Also, the horses could definitely tell he was there, and they did not like it.

"Spettro," said Ezio suddenly, under his breath. "Grazie."

Desmond held out his hands. "I wish I could have helped more. Er. Mi dispiace."

Ezio gave him a look like, 'why are you apologizing?' "Devi imparare l'italiano."

"Yes. Si."

That was the worst day. Another few men died, and they had to just leave them lying there along the road. A Borgia patrol caught up to them later, but Desmond alerted Ezio to it long before the dust column was visible to human eyes, so they were able to set an ambush and catch them without taking worse than a few more shallow cuts. They stripped and dumped those bodies, and then they had a decent set of disguises for the next town. The next town, late in the day, had a medicine woman who, thankfully, didn't try to bleed anyone and instead got to work with a needle.

"Okay," said Desmond, once Ezio had been sewn up and bandaged. He'd insisted everyone else get treatment first. "Where are we going?"

Ezio gave him a look that clearly said, 'You still need to learn Italian.'

Desmond said, "Firenze? Venezia? Forlì?"

Ezio's expression cleared. "Ah. Non Firenze; Lorenzo è morto, e i nemici hanno la città. Forlì . . . Caterina . . . "

"She'll use you," said Desmond. "But she'll do it openly, at least."

Ezio looked down at the bracers with their hidden blades. "Non Forlì."

"Venezia, then?" said Desmond.

"Agostino Barbarigo è tornato ai Templari."

Desmond hesitated, then said, "Roma?"

"Roma?" repeated Ezio, in tones of sharp disbelief.

"Roma. Cesare is snake. Uh. Un serpent? And the best way to deal with a snake is," he said, and made a single gesture across his throat.

" . . . si. Grazie, spettro."

"I have a name," said Desmond, irritably; then he thought better of it. Ezio would have questions if he used his real name.

"Un nome? Che cos'è?"

"Miles," said Desmond. It wasn't really a lie.

"Miles," repeated Ezio, pronouncing it in Italian, with the accent on the second syllable. "Bene, Miles. Grazie mille. Domani vado a Roma."

 

It turned out that when there wasn't an Animus cutting out the boring parts, it took days to get to Rome on horseback from Monteriggioni. After the first, Ezio had gestured at him to get on the extra horse, one of the ones they'd stolen from the Borgia. He thought this was ridiculous - how was he supposed to sit on anything when he didn't have any substance - and therefore finding out that he _could_ sit on a horse was massively irritating. On the other hand, the horse could clearly tell he was there, and kept spooking because it couldn't see him or smell him or feel him in any way. Ezio thought about it, and then indicated that he should climb up behind _him_. This worked because the horse thought it was carrying one person, which it could see and feel.

Meanwhile, he and Ezio tried Italian lessons. They didn't go horribly, but it would still be a long time before Desmond would be able to speak with anything like proficiency.

The fifth unpleasant surprise was that Desmond didn't, apparently, sleep. It made sense. He wasn't quite sure where he was but he didn't have a body, and sleep was for bodies to rest and recover. The first night, when he was on guard, he'd just taken it as a gift. The next few nights, though, he figured out that being awake when the only person who could see or hear or perceive you in any way was sleeping was _incredibly dull_. Now he was spending the nights keeping a watch while Ezio slept, and thinking about his current condition.

He was almost certainly dead. He was almost certainly a ghost. The next logical step in the chain went, 'he was almost certainly haunting Ezio Auditore,' except that required the idea that ghosts could haunt backwards in time, and he'd never heard of that. On the other hand, he'd never heard of ghosts not knowing how to speak languages, so clearly ghost knowledge had some big glaring holes. He hadn't come to any great conclusions by the time Ezio woke up, and he couldn't have explained them even if he had, so he called it a wash.

They arrived at Rome on a cold rainy day. It was the beginning of January, and Italy didn't really get cold enough to snow, so instead it was water _just_ above freezing, that soaked the clothes and then stole all warmth from the body. Ezio was clearly miserable in it, and Desmond could hardly blame him. They went into the first inn they found, which was full of other people who'd had the same idea, paid the ridiculous price for a bed, and went upstairs so Ezio could strip and then sit by the fire to get warm while his clothes also sat by the fire to get dry.

"Miles," said Ezio, and sighed. "Voglio una puttana."

Puttana meant whore, he knew that much. Which meant Ezio . . . well, it was one way to get warm. And he really didn't have any room to object. Ezio hasn't met Sofia, and won't for another decade at least. "Yeah, okay. I'm gone," he said, and walked out through the door.

He went down to the common room. He could people-watch, and listen to Sixteenth-Century Italian, and determinedly ignore what Ezio was doing.

Ezio found him there later. Desmond had made an interesting discovery. None of the people could see him, or hear him, but for some reason none of them tried to sit in him either. The inn was otherwise packed, too. Ezio raised a single eyebrow, and then took the seat and a jolt like the Animus frizting went through him as they aligned, for an instant, and Desmond was sitting in the chair, feeling the good kind of fucked and thinking idly about ordering some of the stew. He jumped up, away, and for the first time since he got there he could feel his heartbeat, thudding in his chest.

"What the _fuck_?" he said out loud. Ezio apparently echoed the sentiment, looking at him in shock even while some of the people who Desmond was standing in moved so as to not be standing in him anymore.

Ezio said, "Non sei un spettro molto vecchio, sei tu?"

Desmond stared at him. "I'm not even sure I'm properly a ghost." When Ezio continued to stare uncomprehendingly, he added, "Mangia, per favore."

"Si," said Ezio, and flagged down one of the serving women, who were also definitely part-time whores, and got a bowl of thick lentil stew and a mug of ale. Desmond wandered around the room while he ate, observing how people seemed to move to get out of his way and listening in on conversations. When Ezio stood up, he followed.

The next morning, Ezio hired a pigeon to send to Firenze. By then, Claudia and Maria and their many refugees should have made it to that city, which was maybe not Montireggioni's friend but was Cesare's enemy. Ezio wanted to let his family know he was safe. But hiring the pigeon took most of his remaining money. Then again, a man with Ezio's skills didn't really need to worry about _money_ so much.

Ezio wandered around the city for a while, stealing apparently just because he could. Desmond actually didn't mind that so much - it was Ezio getting the lay of the land, so to speak. But the amount of garbage and raw sewage left lying in the streets, and the stench, were unbelievable. He was intensely grateful the scents hadn't come through in the Animus. He tried to focus on other things; the architecture, the people. Ezio noticed, looked for a moment as though he were going to say something, and then clearly thought better of it.

At about lunch time, Ezio stopped wandering and headed for - stables? Yes, one of the stables they'd passed earlier. Desmond remembered this place as having been shuttered when Ezio arrived in Rome, but that clearly wasn't the case. Ezio made friends with the horses, and ducked around the building so he could climb up to the hay loft. After patting down some of the hay into a comfortable nest, Ezio shut his eyes.

Well. It wasn't the worst place in the world to wait.

Ezio woke when the shadows were getting long and people we heading home. He stopped to get a meat-filled pastry, and ate it while walking.

"Where are we going?" asked Desmond.

"Io continuo a non parlare la tua lingua," said Ezio, under his breath, ducking around a corner into a dark alley. He ran up a wall a little to reach a handy loose brick, and then they were climbing one.

"Oh, great," said Desmond.

He didn't actually have to climb; he could just sit down, and where the ground was, for him, seemed to be a function of where Ezio was. Doing it that way wigged him out, though, because he kept clipping through the walls. So instead he followed Ezio all the way up the tower. When they got to the top and Ezio was looking around - with Isu sight, had to be, noting down all the useful or interesting things nearby - he said, "It's English. Er. Anglaise?"

"Inglese?" said Ezio, still looking around. "Sei tu inglese?"

Tu meant you. Vu _also_ meant you, but so far Ezio had stuck to 'tu'. Probably he was asking about Desmond's origin. Desmond shrugged. "Non. Io sono un assassino."

Ezio stiffened, and then relaxed. Had he been surprised? But surely he must already have figured out that Desmond was on his side. He didn't say anything, anyway, and Desmond lined up to take the leap of faith right after him so he would get dragged along at speed through the masonry of the tower. At ground level, Ezio immediately began heading towards another tower. Of course.

After a while he said, "Laa shay’a waqi'un mutlaq."

"Bal kullahum mumkin," replied Desmond instantaneously, and with the correct pronunciation. He'd learned that much, at least.

Ezio looked over at him.

"It's not my fault you don't speak Arabic," said Desmond, and repeated the whole phrase again properly. "That how it is supposed to sound. Eh. Bene sonne?"

"Suono coretto," supplied Ezio, which meant he'd gotten the words and what Desmond meant as well. They walked some more, in awkward silence. Then Ezio blurted out, "Sei morto?" and, yeah, Desmond could see why he'd be worried about asking that.

"Si," said Desmond.

"Templari?"

"Isu," said Desmond. Ezio stopped, but Desmond didn't, so it took a few steps for him to stop and turn back. "Come Juno? Minerva? _Isu_."

"Isu," said Ezio, tasting the word. " _I_ su. Ho così _tante_ domande."

"Yeah, buddy," said Desmond. You and me both."

They visited three towers that night. Desmond could feel Ezio watching him the whole time, but tried not to let it bother him. He wasn't going to lie to the man, and if the truth was fantastic - well, Ezio had already seen fantastic things. As the night wore on, however, Desmond became aware that Ezio was assessing his skills as well, and not finding them lacking. The last tower, they raced to the top despite Desmond's protests that it wasn't fair since he didn't actually have to lift his own weight. Ezio laughed and insisted, and in the end Desmond did win by a hair.

"Combatti bene come ti arrampichi?" asked Ezio, breathing hard but not yet panting.

Combat good like you something. Desmond snorted. "Non. I don't fight. I just run away. Er. Io non combatte."

Ezio winced at the terrible grammar, and made the I-wish-you-spoke-Italian face that they were both quickly becoming familiar with. On the way to an abandoned but sound building, one Ezio had identified from the tower, Ezio taught him question words. Desmond knew it was so he could ask questions, but it was going to backfire tremendously: he had questions of his own.

"Mi dispiace," he said.

"Non è colpa," said Ezio, but Desmond wasn't sure how true that was.

It took Ezio some time to get a fire going, using the remains of the mattress as fuel, but gradually the room warmed. Ezio lay down right on the hearth and said, "Guardami, per favore."

"Certo," said Desmond.

 

Ezio woke up about an hour after dawn. "Miles?"

"Si?"

"È sicuro?"

Desmond shrugged. "È silent. Er. È tranquil?"

"Bene. Ti dispiace se dormo un po 'di più?"

"Non," said Desmond. It was dull, but he didn't mind; and the best way for Ezio to heal well was rest, and lots of it.

When Ezio woke again, it was midmorning already. "Non è noioso, guardarmi dormire?"

"Si," said Desmond. "But I can't actually leave, and I might as well keep watch. Yes, I know, you still don't speak English, I still don't speak Italian. We're working on it. Come on."

Ezio was prepared to eat only a single small loaf of bread, until Desmond told him to, "Mangia," again. Ezio muttered something under his breath; Demond heard the names 'Claudia' and 'Mario.' Well. Good. Ezio could stand some mother-henning, if he thought you just walked it off.

Today, Desmond took the lead. After a few minutes, Ezio asked, "Dove stiamo andando?"

"Il Mausoleo di Augusto," said Desmond.

"Perché?"

"Getting history back on track," said Desmond.

On the way there, they passed a gallows. A man was being beaten by the guards, begging for them to cut his wife down so he could bury her.

"Mi dispiace, Miles," said Ezio. "Ma . . . "

"Si," said Desmond. "Kick his ass."

So after beating up all the guards, they climbed the hill and murdered the sick fuck of an executioner. Or Ezio did, anyway. Then he calmly rifled through the man's house, and just as calmly, trashed it. After a minute, Demond got it: Ezio was covering his tracks, making it look, not like an assassination, but a revenge killing.

"Mangia," said Desmond, when they got outside. The sun said it was noon, and noon was lunch time.

"Si, madre," sniped back Ezio, but he did go buy another bread roll.

They didn't make it to the mausoleum until the afternoon. Desmond worried about it being too late, but as it turned out, Machiavelli was sitting on one of the surrounding lawns, apparently enjoying the winter sunshine. He was appropriately shocked when Ezio walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

Desmond didn't catch much of the ensuing conversation. He caught the word 'pomo' a couple of times, so it was nice to know Machiavelli was just as much a hardass in real life. Then Machiavelli asked something, and Ezio - hesitated.

Ezio didn't hesitate.

"Mio amico?" said Machiavelli.

"Preferisco non dirlo," said Ezio. "Mi dispiace."

Machiavelli didn't like that, but didn't get to pursue it any more, either. Ezio changed the topic, asking about horses, and they were off across the city. Desmond mounted up behind Ezio without so much as a word.

They kept talking as they rode across the city and towards Tiber Island. Even on horseback, it was easily several hours to get there. Desmond remembered more happening on Ezio's first day in Rome. It must have been the way the Animus compressed things, though. It was better, he thought, that Ezio get rest and - "Mangia," he said.

"Non ho fame," said Ezio under his breath.

"Mangia anyway," said Desmond.

Ezio sighed and made some remark to Machiavelli, who replied with almost a chagrined look. It ended with both of them sitting at one of the benches on the island, eating some kind of stew with thick cut slices of bread. Then he led them to a warehouse, which had a small attached suite built on top for the caretaker. Most of the rooms were empty, but one had a bed. Desmond bullied Ezio into lying down, despite protestations of his not being tired, and he was asleep almost as soon as he was horizontal.

So. Ezio was terrible about his own health. Good to know.

 

Ezio woke up in the middle of the night. "Miles," he said. "Quanto tempo ho dormito?"

"Sette, otto ore?" replied Desmond.

"Tch."

"You are healing. You need rest. And food. Ma - "

" - angia, si, si. Sei peggio di mia sorella."

"Claudia ti ama," said Desmond.

"E tu, Miles? Mi ami?"

Desmond snickered. "Yeah, sure."

Ezio grinned back at him sharply.

The thought niggled at him, though, all that day while they went to the Trajan baths to meet Machiavelli and ended up having to beat up a pack of young idiots in _wolf pelts_ , seriously, who did they think they were fooling? They all ran away after Ezio killed their leader, anyway. Then they went under the baths into an old and falling-apart Roman theater and Ezio looted their stuff, including a letter from whoever was serving as their taskmaster on the Borgia side.

"Machiavelli needs to see that," said Desmond.

"Si," agreed Ezio.

The thing was, Ezio was such a distant ancestor to him that there wasn't even the tiniest chance they'd ever have gotten to know each other in the usual way. Grandparents, sure; even great-grandparents sometimes. Not an ancestor five centuries distant. And, okay, Desmond felt a _connection_ to Ezio, because wandering around in someone else's head for four decades would do that. But love? Ezio?

On the face of it, the thought was preposterous. He _cared_ about Ezio because he cared about his own eventual existence. He was also rapidly becoming aware that the greatest mentor of the Assassins since Altair himself was also a disaster walking around in human skin, and desperately needed someone to look after him. It didn't have to be Desmond. Probably it had been Mario and Claudia and maybe Leonardo, before he'd . . . arrived. It was just obvious for him to do it _now_. That wasn't love.

Not yet, anyway. He knew Ezio was the true mentor of the assassins, could see it shining through even now, while he was still in grief and shock and wounded. It was in how he'd sent Claudia away with the Apple and used himself as bait to draw off the Borgia. It was in how he'd gone to hunt down il Carnefice immediately after learning he existed. It was in how he wanted to help Desmond, Isu or no Isu, even though he already knew Desmond was dead. He was the mentor Desmond's own father had never been, and it could turn to love, if Desmond let it.

He had no idea how he'd gotten here, was the thing. What happened to Desmond, when Ezio died? And he would die. Ezio was as mortal as any other. What would that do to Desmond, if he lost someone he really loved? Shaun and Bex, didn't count; as far as he knew, they were alive. Where would he even go?

"Miles?" asked Ezio, gently, and they were at the office where Machiavelli had said to meet him.

"Mi dispiace," he said. "Just show it to Machiavelli."

Machiavelli was pleased to have proof, but unsurprised. He told Ezio about the "Followers of Romulus" and their antics, how the fright was sending people to the churches in droves. Ezio said, "Un altra cosa da riparare. Cosa altro c'è?"

Machiavelli looked up from his desk, startled. "Hai intenzione di riparare tutta Roma? Da solo?"

"Si, e non. Non da solo."

"Ezio - "

"Cosa altro?" demanded Ezio, planting both hands on the desk and leaning over.

Machiavelli gave in. "Le tasse, e i soldati. La gente è troppo spaventata e troppo preoccupata per le loro vite."

"L'esercito papale è come un esercito altro," said Ezio. "Possiamo sconfiggerlo come se avessimo sconfitto un esercito altro."

"Con quale esercito?"

"Siamo assassini o no?" asked Ezio.

"Hm," said Machiavelli, and proceeded to tell Ezio about the Assassins' issues in Rome: a lazy madonna leading the whores, an uncooperative thieves' guild, corrupt guards and the mercenaries too busy with the French to fight them, and whole a city that feared and hated Assassins.

"Va bene," said Ezio, standing straight.

"Ezio. Che cosa hai intenzione di fare?"

"Fai amicizia."

 

"Così, Miles? Cosa pensi?"

Desmond sighed. "You need une madonna altra." It was the problem with the easiest solution, the one he thought he even _could_ solve.

"Si, ma io stavo parlando di Machiavelli."

Oh. "Machiavelli is a good ambassador. Ambassador bene?"

"Un buon ambasciatore," said Ezio.

"Si. E un capo male."

"Un cattivo capo," said Ezio, tilting his head slightly. "Mario?"

"Tuo zio?" said Desmond. "Un buon condottiero, e cattivo at politics."

Ezio relaxed a little, like he'd been expecting to have to defend his uncle; but there was no defense against a truth that Mario himself had admitted outright more than once. "Si. E con entrambi, un buon mentore."

Desmond shrugged. "Being mentor is difficult - difficile. If you're worried, maybe try showing Machiavelli about being un buon capo?" At Ezio's continuing incomprehension, he tried, "Teach him? Uh, instruct? Demonstrate?"

"Dimostrare," said Ezio, slowly. They were getting the hang of it. English had enough Latin roots that there was usually a synonym that had an Italian cognate. Desmond just had to throw out words until he found one Ezio could catch. "Dimostrare ai Machiavelli?"

"Sure," said Desmond. "Why not? It can't hurt."

They went to go find out who was fighting the French group of Cesare's supporters. To Ezio's pleased surprise, it was a friend: Bartolomeo d'Alviano. In real life, Bartolomeo was a bear of a man, with a lantern jaw and a face that naturally frowned. Desmond wandered around the barracks curiously while Ezio and Bartolomeo caught up with one another and Bartolomeo introduced his wife, Pantasilea. She was a tiny, curvaceous woman. Desmond looked between the two of them, obviously and happily in love, and decided not to wonder how that worked.

After an afternoon reminiscing about bygones in Venice, Ezio finally got to the point over dinner. Pantasilea listened with dark eyes and a serious, thoughtful air, and said very little, and saw much. At the end, she suggested - something - that made Bartolomeo guffaw and Ezio take her hand to kiss it again before leaving for the night.

"Cosi, Ezio?" asked Desmond.

"Pantasilea è une genia. I francesi e la guardia papale sono alleati, ma questo non significa che gli piaccia l'un l'altro. Un po di rubando, un po di nacostio, alcune lettere contraffatte . . . "

"Turn them against one another, yes," said Desmond.

Machiavelli liked the idea too. Well, he would, it was his kind of plan. His idea was simple in essence: get two ranking commanders to have an affair with the same woman, let them both find out about it, and then stand back to watch the sparks fly.

"Quale donna?" asked Ezio.

"Un alleata d'assassini," said Machiavelli, waving his hands. "Ho bisogno che tu segua alcuni dei loro comandanti. Dobbiamo conoscere le loro abitudini prima di poterne scegliere due. Capisce?"

"Si," said Ezio.

There followed six weeks of following around Templar guard-captains, Italian and French both. It was boring, but between repeated exhortations to Ezio to mangia and dormie, Ezio actually did recover weeks before Machiavelli settled on a pair. They were each known to be the kind of man who would have an affair instead of just going to a whorehouse like a normal person, and the jealous type. The French one was a mean drunk. The only thing lacking was a woman to be their mutual lover. Machiavelli was obviously hesitant to tell that to Ezio; with, as it turned out, good reason.

Ezio went to la Rose en Fiore, and spent a week sleeping his way through the place. Desmond hated every moment of it, and spent most of it sitting in hallways trying to ignore everything since he couldn't actually leave the building. He knew Ezio wouldn't catch anything, but it was just so - pointless. Getting off only really required a hand, and whores were whores. Why would anyone want to do that with someone they didn't love?

At the end of the week, Ezio announced which of the whores could learn to be a courtesan in the court to Machiavelli and handed her off. Then he got a horse and went for a long ride, away from the densely crowded central and Tiber island districts, and out onto the Campagna.

«I am sorry, Miles,» he said. «I know you don't like . . . » he trailed off, baffled. «Women?» he tried.

«No, I'm,» said Desmond, and then stopped. Renaissance Italian didn't have a word for _bisexual_. «It's fine. I just think that sex should be about more than money.»

«You are a romantic!» said Ezio, apparently delighted. «Did you save yourself for marriage, like in the ballads?»

«I _died_ ,» said Desmond, which did the impossible and shut Ezio up. For at least a few minutes.

«Ye-es,» said Ezio eventually. «You died. Or perhaps the Isu killed you.»

«They did not - look, it was a,» Desmond stopped. His italian wasn't that good yet, and he didn't know the words anyway. «It was for an Isu. I was not an Isu. Using it killed me, because a human mind can't carry the same things an Isu mind could. The Isu who made it were all long dead.» Except for one, and only if you called that living. «They didn't actually _want_ it to kill someone using it.»

«Did it work?» asked Ezio. «Whatever it was supposed to do?»

«I don't know,» said Desmond. «I woke up here. I suppose it's better than not waking up at all, but . . . »

«It seems I must apologize again, Miles. I did not mean to bring up painful memories.»

«Forgiven,» said Desmond. The finished the ride in a more companionable kind of quiet.

When they got back, however, it was to find a new disaster: Madonna Solari had been kidnapped by slavers.

«She's in a boat, on the river,» said Desmond.

«How do you know?» asked Ezio, even as he got himself onto a horse.

«I remember things sometimes,» said Desmond. «Ezio - be careful. I also remember Madonna Solari dying.»

«Understood,» said Ezio.

They didn't get there in time for Ezio to save Solari, which was the only mercy: that he hadn't had to see another of his failures. The boat, in fact, was entirely gone; Solari had just been dumped overboard, and was bobbing with the other refuse in the river, bloodless. Ezio waded in to grab her and pull her back, close her staring eyes. Then he strapped her body to the horse for the long walk back to the Rose. The horse didn't like it.

«You remembered this?» asked Ezio.

«No. I remembered being there when that bastard cut her throat open. Close enough to see, not close enough to do anything.»

«I see. And at Monteriggioni?»

«I remember you being woken by a cannonball through the wall of your bedroom,» said Desmond.

«So you changed things,» said Ezio.

«Little things,» said Desmond. «I can't . . . I'm sorry, Ezio.»

«I will forgive you,» said Ezio, «if you tell me when you remember something.»

Desmond looked at him. «I will tell you that I remember,» he said. «But not what. No man should know his own future, Ezio. Not even you.»

They trudged along in silence.

«That's true,» said Ezio finally. «Very well. Tell me when you remember, and use your judgement about the rest.»

Desmond nodded.

They made it back to the Rose late, but not so late that the whores couldn't see what had happened to their madonna. «Put her in a cold place,» said Ezio. «I will arrange the funeral in the morning.»

«A funeral? For Madame Solari?»

«The dead deserve their rest,» said Ezio. «In the morning. I am tired. I don't suppose there is a bed I could use?»

«There are plenty of beds, ser - » began one of the whores.

«An _empty_ one,» said Ezio.

He ended up on an old and mostly flat straw mattress on the floor of one of the whores' actual bedrooms, while the woman herself slept in a different room with one of her "sisters."

«Will you keep watch?» asked Ezio. It was more a ritual than a genuine request at this point.

«Of course,» said Desmond.

He woke Ezio up by shouting, "Ezio Auditore da Firenze," at the top of his lungs. Ezio came up swinging, and then caught himself. «Miles?»

«You have about two seconds before your sister barges in here.»

«My _sister_?» Ezio said, and then Claudia arrived.

After the confusion of limbs and hugging was done, they adjourned to the kitchen downstairs to talk. «I'm surprised, brother,» said Claudia. «To find you at a whorehouse, but _not whoring_.»

Ezio winced, but Maria got there first. «Claudia! Have some respect. These women lost their madame yesterday. I'm sure Ezio stayed only to see to their safety.»

«Ha, safety,» said Claudia. Before she could say anything else, one of the other whores poked her head inside the kitchen, saw that they were there, and came in the rest of the way. She was wearing a sensible linen shift under a loose woolen dress: clearly not her work clothes.

«Ser Ezio,» she said. «These women just barged in. I'm sorry if they woke you - »

«They did not,» said Ezio. «Let me eat breakfast, and then I suppose I have to find a priest.»

«This is Rome,» said the whore.

«To perform the funeral,» said Ezio.

«About that,» said the whore. «We all talked, and we decided - we can't afford a funeral, even if we all chip in. So we'd rather you didn't. If that's all right.»

«No money?» asked Claudia. «This is a brothel!»

«Er, yes?»

«Show me the books,» demanded Claudia.

«You can - do sums?»

«I'm an Auditore,» said Claudia, almost offended. «Of course I can do _sums_!»

Two hours later, Claudia sat back and said, «Well, Solari was a templar lover and a cheat, but I can fix this. I think. If you don't mind going and collecting on some outstanding debts, oh brother of mine.»

« _Fix_ this? Claudia, what are you even doing here? Has Firenze been attacked?»

«Not that I know,» said Claudia, then looked up and caught his expression. «We did not go to Firenze, brother! We took the townspeople to Siena. They provided food and supplies, and now everyone has gone back to Monteriggioni. With luck, they won't even miss planting season.»

«Then - why are you _here_?»

«You didn't think I'd miss the chance to come to Rome?»

«We had to bring you the Apple.» said Maria. «We want to help.»

«Mother - »

«I want to spit on the corpse of the man who took away my Giovanni!» said Maria, softly. «My sons Federico and Petruccio. We will not hide behind walls, my son. Not if they will not protect us.»

Ezio looked between her and Claudia. «I can't lose the two of you, too.»

«Ezio,» said Claudia. «The only way you can lose us is by sending us away.»

Ezio looked up, across, a pleading panicked question for Desmond.

«I don't know why you think I have any control over them. It's obvious she's going to do this, with you or without. The only real choice you have is to accept the help you need, or reject it.»

When put like that, the correct choice was obvious, even to a self-sacrificing human disaster like Ezio Auditore. «Very well, then. Please fix this mess, Madonna Auditore.»

Claudia shot her brother a glare. «Don't ever call me that again.» Then she turned and looked straight at Desmond. «I don't think I've ever seen Ezio listen to good advice before in his _life_. Who are you?»

«Claudia,» said Maria and Ezio at the same time. Maria continued with, «Who are you talking to?» while Ezio asked, « _You can see him_?»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are in a new fandom again. This time it's Assassin's Creed.
> 
> I'm not an Italian speaker. If any Italian-speakers want to correct me because it sounds weird or unnatural or doesn't actually say what it is supposed to say, please do so! I welcome all help.
> 
> \o


	2. Medicine

It turned out that Claudia Auditore could see him. He'd never actually asked what Ezio saw when he looked at him, but the answer appeared to be 'a man with odd clothes.' Explaining him to Claudia took some time. She flatly refused to believe at first, until Ezio got fed up and put his arm through Desmond's torso. Then she did the same thing, several times, before she finally seemed to accept that he was . . . not a normal man, anyway.

Ezio told her how it had been Desmond who woke him up in the early predawn hours before the attack.

«Then we owe you a very great debt,» said Claudia firmly. «Hey, idiot brother! Have you even bothered to give thanks?»

«I _did_ ,» said Ezio. Then he paused. «But that was before he understood Italian. Did I say it wrong? Is that why you apologized?»

«I apologized because I'm pretty useless in a battle like this, and I could have done so much more if I weren't dead.»

«You're _dead_?» shrieked Claudia.

So it was a long and complicated morning, and that was before they even got around to finding a priest who would say the prayers for the dead over a whore, much less a madonna. But on the positive side, after calming her down and telling her more about him, Claudia seemed to decide that she liked Ezio's ghost. Privately he suspected it had to do with the fact that he constantly reminded Ezio to do things like eat and sleep.

They held the funeral a week later, on a grey rainy April day just after Easter, when the first flowers were poking up out of the wet ground. By then the debts Ezio had collected were being put to good use rebuilding the Rose, Claudia had got the ledgers firmly under her iron fist, and had even started to talk about investing in local businesses. The whores cried, and afterwards Ezio and Bartolomeo and four of his other men helped carry the coffin. Ezio was soaked and freezing by the time they got back to the Rose, and none of the whores were in the mood to entertain any of the men; but dry clothes and hot soup and spiced wine served to mellow everyone out enough to have a sort of informal wake. The whores told stories about Madonna Solari and drank to her life and, finally, finished grieving.

They got to work with the Apple the next day. No one thought it was a good idea to let Maria hold it. Ezio could ignore the mental push towards power and domination as long as he was prepared. Claudia, it turned out, didn't even feel the push. The surprise, the first really pleasant one Desmond had had since waking up in Monteriggioni, was that the Apple was as solid to him now as it had been in life.

«Well!» said Maria, watching what was to her a hovering Apple. «Does it seek to ensnare you?»

«No,» said Desmond. If anything, the low golden hum was telling him **on**. «Which is . . . _extremely_ worrying.»

«How so?» asked Claudia.

«Before I died, one of these things - I killed someone. She turned out to be a Templar, but I didn't know that at the time, and even fighting it as hard as I could, I still stabbed her. And it _isn't_ pushing on me now.»

«Maybe it doesn't care about dead people,» said Ezio.

«Maybe it doesn't care about people who can't exercise power over anyone,» said Claudia. «You're dead and I'm a woman.»

«That's the more cynical answer, yes,» said Desmond.

«Caterina Sforza is a woman,» pointed out Maria, so Ezio wouldn't feel compelled. Desmond hadn't figured out what was going on there, but clearly the women Auditore didn't love the Countess of Forlì. «Lucrezia Borgia is a woman.»

«Powerful women, born to powerful families,» said Claudia, dismissively.

«I think you should keep it, though,» said Desmond. «Cesare will _expect_ Ezio to have it.»

«Oh!» said Ezio. «That's why you suggested Rome! Cesare expected me to go to Venice!»

«And the Papal Armies have been busy all this time preparing for war against Venice, so he probably still thinks you're there,» said Desmond.

«While actually I am _here_ , tearing down his house.»

«Setting it on fire,» said Claudia. «And he would never expect this to be in a brothel, either.»

«Exactly,» said Desmond. «So you keep it. And keep working on it.»

«How? It wants a command, and I can't think of any command that can't be twisted - »

«It wants a command?» asked Ezio. «It was telling me it was awake.»

«Hmm,» said Maria. «Miles?»

«I thought it was saying 'on,' but that _could_ be a ready-for-orders signal. Claudia, try asking it for a library.»

«A library?» asked Claudia, looking at the scintillating gold in her hands. «Oh! Yes, I see. Hah, a library. Of course.» She took a deep breath, then another, and suddenly the Apple was becoming duller, less and less gold, until the color leached out completely and it looked more or less exactly like a royal orb-and-cross, without the cross, an inexplicably made of lead.

«You - broke it?» asked Ezio.

«I told it to sleep,» said Claudia. «It is. I doubt even the Spaniard himself would notice it now, though.»

«No, you are correct,» said Ezio. «We will leave it here. Claudia - please do not use it again without someone else who can handle it.»

«Brother,» said Claudia, resignedly. « _I_ am not the stupid one.»

 

They went to go see the uncooperative thieves. It was, of course, la Volpe, who thought Machiavelli was a traitor and tried to prove it the next evening by showing Ezio what was clearly and information handoff. Desmond pointed out, and Ezio repeated, that it was Machiavelli _receiving_ the information, not giving it. La Volpe didn't look convinced, but before he could argue the point a number of his men attacked some guards, and then it was time to fight.

Real people who were not Animus projections tended to run away after the first time Ezio killed one of their friends. As a result Ezio actually killed a lot less often than he'd previously believed. So far they'd been able to get away with only killing one person, two if you counted Il Carnefice, which Desmond didn't. The Borgia guards were made of sterner stuff, but not _much_ sterner: after the first four went down, to la Volpe or Ezio or the thieves, the other four broke and ran.

«Shit,» said la Volpe. «This area will be crawling with guards. We have to get out of here.»

«Agreed,» said Ezio. «And that boy - »

«Claudio,» interjected one of the thieves.

« - needs a doctor.»

Desmond snorted, and when Ezio looked at him said, «He needs a medicine woman. Your doctors are all incredibly terrible, and that's not a clean cut. It is going to get infected if you go to one of them.»

«Ezio?» said la Volpe.

«Is there a medicine woman who lives nearby? A doctor would be too public - if they asked . . . »

«Ah, yes,» said la Volpe. «I will lead the way. Come.»

The medicine woman was a spinster when she wasn't midwifing or setting broken bones. A spinster, in Renaissance Italy, was a woman who turned wool into yarn, and it was one of the few career options available to women who hadn't married and didn't want to be whore. She was outside in the sun, working at a great wheel. She looked up when they approached, and burst into a flurry of activity.

Ezio stood off to the side, where we could watch her work. She examined the with gentle hands, gauging the break. Then she said, «It's clean enough. I can set it. Hold him down.» La Volpe and the boy's father moved to do so.

Desmond hesitated for a moment, then said, «Ezio. Would you go buy some wine? Or port. The strongest drink you can find, really.»

«To get him drunk?» asked Ezio, as if getting a teenager drunk was a normal idea to have. Then again, without anaesthetic . . . «You think he needs it?»

«It's not for drinking,» said Desmond.

«No? Then what?»

«Cleaning the wound,» said Desmond.

«With drink?» asked Ezio, sounding skeptical.

«I will explain explain later, but we don't have the time for this. Oh, and honey, if you can find it.»

«Strong drink and honey,» muttered Ezio. But there was a nearby inn, which was mostly empty at that time of day. Ezio asked for the strongest drink they had, because "his brother's son was injured and needed something to dull the pain." This seemed to be reasonable to the barkeeper, because he produced a jar of something alcoholic enough that Desmond's eyes watered, and Ezio payed for one full skin of the stuff. «And,» added Ezio, «is there honey I can buy as well?»

«To sweeten it? Sure.»

So they got wine and honey and went back to where the medicine woman had pulled out a needle and some thread - horsehair, not yarn, so at least _she_ was competent - so she could sew up the cut.

«Madonna,» said Ezio. «I have brought wine to wash the wound.»

Everyone looked at him.

«I know it seems odd, but I have it on the best of authority that it will help.»

The woman sighed, but said, «That's ridiculous, but if you want to waste your money, I won't stop you. Only do it quickly; that needs to be closed now.»

«Yes,» said Ezio, and went over to Claudio. Seriously, the stuff smelled like turpentine. Claudio hissed when it hit the open wound, but bore it well enough, and the very competent medicine woman had plenty of linen to soak up the blood. Desmond was sure they were clean, despite having old stains from doing this before. They flushed the cut, and then dabbed at it with a soaked cloth, and kept dabbing at it while Claudio was sewed up. He whimpered a little, and bit his lip, and didn't scream. It took maybe ten minutes for the woman to finish putting in a neat row of stitches.

«Now the honey,» said Desmond. «Smear it on the wound before she puts the bandage on.»

Everyone looked at Ezio again when he did that; but no one objected. La Volpe looked as though he might have something to say when Ezio _didn't_ do anything weird when the splint and bandages were added, but Claudio stood up and thanked the woman politely.

«They're going to have to keep those bandages clean,» said Desmond. «Tell him that when they clean them they need to boil them for at least half an hour - by the church clock.» The clocks in the middle ages were all completely nuts. Everyone thought that a day should be twelve hours and a night should be twelve hours, and they had clocks where you could _adjust the length of the hours_ to match the length of the a day. This time of year, that meant short hours, so it would take half an hour to get enough time boiling to really disinfect anything.

Ezio sighed, and relayed the instructions.

La Volpe waited until both Claudio and his father had gone before he turned to Ezio and said, «So you're a doctor now, too?»

«I have learned a few things, through the years,» said Ezio. «You will please let me know how he fares.»

«Mm,» said la Volpe. «Very well.» And then, «Ezio. Do you truly believe that Machiavelli was not recieving a Borgia bribe?»

«Why don't you stop by the warehouse on Isola Tiberina, and we can ask him together?»

La Volpe gave him a searching look. "Va bene," he said. «I am certainly interested in what he has to say.»

When he did arrive, Machiavelli was very pleased to show off the list of Templar agents in the city.

«Mm,» said la Volpe. «Let me make a copy. I can have my men track them, learn when they are most vulnerable. We will want to make their deaths look . . . »

«Like they were not assassinations,» finished Machiavelli. «To keep the Borgia from realizing we are here as long as possible. I agree. Learn what you can, my friend. We are stronger when we work together.»

«Yes,» said la Volpe, drawing out the word. «Ezio. Will you come visit in another week? I have an idea, and I would like your input.»

«I will see you then,» said Ezio. One he'd left, Ezio turned to Machiavelli. «Another friend. See, Machiavelli?»

«Now you just need to convince the rest of Roma,» said Machiavelli.

«Eh,» said Ezio, in fine spirits. The next day was also fine, early May sunshine combined with the riot of spring flowers, and many people were out walking just because they could.

«All right,» said Ezio. «Tell me. 'All of our doctors are incredibly terrible?'»

«They still believe in the 'four humors' theory of medicine.»

«Yes . . . ?»

«Jesus Christ,» said Desmond. «Fine. The four humors theory has the advantage of explaining why every individual person has different medical needs and meshes nicely with the four elements theory and the four seasons and the four directions, so everything seems to fit together. It has the disadvantage of being completely wrong in every possible way.»

Ezio stopped walking. Desmond walked through him. There was a moment when, very briefly, Desmond _caught_ on Ezio, whose mind was mostly confusion and curiosity, and who was enjoying the spring sunlight and the lack of mud. Then he was out, and he said, «Warn me, will you?»

«Completely wrong,» said Ezio, slowly. «In every possible way. Fine. Tell me.»

«I can't - I'm not a doctor. I only know basic things.»

«Then tell me why I washed the wound with grappa,» said Ezio reasonably. "Very _expensive_ grappa,» he added pointedly. 

Desmond sighed. «Because infection is - so you know that, in a wet year, you get mold growing on the crops and it rots standing in the field?»

«Yes.»

«That's what infection is, except instead of growing on grain, it's growing in _you_. Trying to rot you while you're still alive.»

«That,» said Ezio, «is disgusting.»

«Well, _yes_ ,» said Desmond. «There are ways to fight back. Everyone has them. The infection can't live if it's too hot, so people get fevers. We have - » He tried to come up with a way to explain white blood cells, and gave up, « - little fighters, which kill any infection they find. They're usually hidden in the blood, like salt in seawater, but if you get enough of them in one place that's pus. And of course, strong spirits and salt and honey can kill the infection, but only if they touch it directly. It does no good to just feed someone any of them, you have to put them on the wound.»

«In the wound,» said Ezio.

«Yes,» agreed Desmond. «So I made you wash the wound with grappa, and then put honey on it. I should really have insisted that that woman put her needle through a fire, but I didn't think of it at the time.»

«Because infection dies if it's too hot,» said Ezio, more to himself than to Desmond. «That's why you wanted them to boil the bandages.»

«Mm,» said Desmond.

«Are there other ways to kill infection? Poison?»

«Yes, many, and there you really are better off asking a herb woman. I know willow bark and wormwood, and you shouldn't use wormwood if anything else is available because it will give you horrible screaming hallucinations and do nasty things to your liver.»

«Yes, thank you, Miles,» said Ezio, which was how desmond learned that Ezio had, at some point, been given too much wormwood.

«Oh! And soap. If you wash properly, scrubbing everything and using boiled water, you can get most of the infection off you just by washing every day. But it's no good using lots of soap if you're not going to boil the water, because - »

«Infection can live in fouled water,» said Ezio.

«And mostly does,» said Desmond.

«Mm,» said Ezio. «And our doctors?»

«Blood should be on the _inside_ , Ezio. All you do by bleeding someone is force their body to make new blood, which takes time and energy they could otherwise have used to do something useful.»

When they went back to la Volpe, a week later, it was to find that the older thief had purchased a building and planned to make it his base of operations in the city.

«Tell him to make it an inn,» said Desmond. «Something this big, the Borgia won't leave it alone otherwise.»

«And the Borgia?» asked Ezio, out loud, and they had a quick conversation that ended with plans for an inn as well as just a thieves' guild.

«Very well, Ezio,» said la Volpe, looking at the crumbling building. «It is done. And one more thing. I don't know how you did it, but Claudio doesn't have any hint of infection. Magdalena says she's never seen a messy wound like that heal so neatly. It appears that your technique, however strange, works.»

«Like I said, I have learned some things,» said Ezio. «See you later, old fox.»

 

«So,» said Claudia. «We are established in the city. What do we do now?»

«We are established, yes,» said Ezio. «But that does not mean we may conduct an assault on the Castel Sant'Angelo.»

«Of course not,» said Machiavelli. «We must weaken their position and strengthen ours. Lady Claudia, Bartolomeo, how goes the plan to set tensions between the papal forces and their French allies?»

«Progressing,» said Claudia. «We have educated Ortensia, and she has indeed proven skilled at conversation and the finer arts. She is seducing the knight-captain Alexandre, while Fabio Orsini has taken on the role of her husband - he is often far from home and the nights get _so_ lonely.» Everyone laughed. «But so far we have had no luck in arranging a chance meeting between Ortensia and Umberto.»

«Perhaps I should throw a private party,» said Machiavelli. «And?»

«You should consider the funds, too. Half of Cesare's army is mercenaries,» said Desmond. «Cut off the money and . . . »

«Ah, true,» said Claudia. «Who is Cesare's banker?»

«I don't know,» said la Volpe. «Agostino Chigi is the Spaniard's moneylender, but Cesare does not do business with him. I will go looking.»

«As will I,» said Claudia. «I have had another thought, though. The taxes imposed by the Borgia are very high, and too many businesses cannot survive. I thought we might invest in some of the failing ones - and protect them from the Borgia. We will get discounts, the people will be able to maintain their livelihoods, and the Borgia will not get those funds.»

«Sister,» said Ezio.

«I think it is a good idea,» said Machiavelli, «but we don't have the men for it.»

«We can recruit some, then,» said Bartolomeo.

«What?» said Machiavelli.

«We find people who have been harmed by the Borgia enough to be willing to take up arms, and . . . give them some arms,» said Bartolomeo. «It will be more difficult than recruiting for a mercenary company, but in Rome today? Not too much more difficult.»

«And when Cesare inserts a spy?»

«You think Ezio won't know? His intuition is never wrong, my friend.»

«That . . . is true,» admitted Machiavelli. «But - strangers? In our brotherhood?»

«Brothers we have not yet met,» said Ezio.

«Or sisters,» said Desmond. «Believe me. Some of the best assassins I've ever known were women. Claudia, for one, deserves recognition for her hard work.»

Ezio looked like he was going to object.

«Or sisters,» said Claudia. «There are plenty on the streets of Rome who would join us. We just need to teach them.»

«Very well, then,» said Machiavelli. «Bring in some strangers, Auditores; but keep them separate from this council. We must know they are loyal before they can know of our greater plans.»

«Yes,» said Claudia. «Of course.»

«Then the only thing left to talk about is the Apple,» said Machiavelli. «Have we learned anything more?»

«No,» said Ezio.

«Yes,» said Claudia. «I learned that it comes with an instructor in how to use it, although - do not ask me to explain how. It is _not_ made for human use, and if anyone is incautious or hasty it will drive them mad or kill them or both. We have decided it is safest to work in pairs, but we have both been very, very busy. I think I will be less busy soon, now that the Rose is almost rebuilt, but if we are to have new recruits . . . »

«Ezio,» said Bartolomeo, «make time to visit your mother and your sister! Family is one of the greatest gifts in this world. Do not waste it.»

«I know,» said Ezio.

«Then - we will see each other again in another month,» said Machiavelli.

«Yes,» said la Volpe. «We will. Ezio, a moment of your time?»

«Of course,» said Ezio.

They had held the meeting at the Rose because it was in the city proper, and there were no such things as _odd_ comings and goings at a brothel. Now they went outside, blinking in the sunlight.

«Ezio,» said la Volpe, and then hesitated.

«Come, old friend. Nothing you say can offend me.»

«I do not fear offense,» said la Volpe. «I fear you will think - Ezio. There is a, I don't know. I don't want to say a ghost, and yet that seems to be the closest word - »

«Oh,» said Ezio.

« - following you around,» finished la Volpe quickly. «It's very hard to see, I can see it only some of the time, but since you came to Rome - »

«It's all right,» said Ezio. «I know. His name is Miles.»

«Hello,» said Desmond.

«You - _know_? You don't think me mad?»

«I thought _myself_ mad,» said Ezio. «But Claudia can see and hear him too. Mother can't even see him. We were all very surprised.»

«Hear him?» asked la Volpe. «You mean, he speaks?»

«In Italian, even,» said Desmond, which caused Ezio to smile a bit.

«Yes. He said hello.»

«I did not hear him,» said la Volpe.

«Most people can't,» assured Ezio. «It is more interesting that you _can_ see him.»

«Barely,» said la Volpe. «It is . . . when I look at people, I can close my outer eyes and see the true character within. If they are a friend or foe, if they are important. It - uh, Miles, he, he appears to be, like an _outline_ of someone important, when I look like that; but when I open my outer eyes, there is no one there.»

«Huh,» said Desmond. «Interesting.»

«Interesting?»

«He has eagle's eyes,» said Desmond. «Like us, but I guess weaker. We have to check to see what Claudia can see, but - that might explain it. People with eagle's eyes can see me, and sometimes hear me. Can he see through them while he's moving, or must he sit and concentrate?»

Ezio repeated the question. La Volpe looked taken aback, but said, «You have described it exactly. Why? Don't you?»

«No, I can see with them at any time,» said Ezio. «It is how I follow targets.»

«That is cheating,» said la Volpe.

«You taught me there is no such thing as cheating,» said Ezio. «Miles calls the talent eagle's eyes. I suppose that is not a bad name for it.»

«And I look like a _target_ ,» said Desmond. «No wonder you attacked me.»

«Well what would you do if you found an unfamiliar man in your bedroom in the middle of the night?» asked Ezio.

«Yeah, true. But still. A target. I'm an _assassin_. Tell him that, please.»

«Miles also wants me to tell you that he is an assassin. A dead one, but he appeared the night before the attack on Monteriggioni, and woke me up and made me evacuate Caterina and the townspeople and send away the Apple with Claudia. Uncle Mario would otherwise have had it, which means that by now - »

« - it would be in Borgia hands,» said la Volpe, and grimaced.

«So you see. Miles remains devoted to the Creed. He is our ally.»

The silence that followed was a little uncomfortable. Then la Volpe said, «And your intuition is never wrong. All right, Ezio. If you say he is a friend, I will believe you.»

«Thank you,» said Desmond.

«He says thanks. As do I. Until next time?»

«Until next time.»

One the way back to the Rosa, Ezio said, «You think Claudia has eagle's eyes.»

«I do,» said Desmond. «It is passed down along bloodlines. You have them, and you are full-blooded brother and sister.»

«She has never mentioned it to me,» said Ezio.

«You have never mentioned eagle's eyes to her, either. That doesn't mean you were keeping a secret. It's just - it's hard to explain to anyone without them.»

«Very true,» said Ezio, his lips quirking up into a grin. «Ah. What would I do without you, my friend?»

«Not get nearly enough sleep,» said Desmond.

Ezio laughed.

Everyone else had gone by the time they got back to the Rosa, but Maria demanded that Ezio stay for dinner. It was served early, because the brothel would be busy at the more usual times. Ezio, who was never particularly loath to enjoy the Rosa, accepted the invitation with grace.

«And Miles too, of course,» said Maria, which Desmond thought was very sweet of her.

«So, what did the Fox want to talk about?» asked Claudia.

«He can see Miles, if he's concentrating. He wanted to warn me.»

Claudia laughed. «About _Miles_?»

«Well, yes, that's what I told him,» said Ezio. «But that's not the interesting thing. Claudia, Miles says that we all share the gift of eagle's eyes.»

«Of what?» asked Claudia.

Ezio explained, and Claudia - in her forties now, a mother three times over and a widow and the madonna of the most popular brothel in Rome - paled and said, «But. That's just. Not everyone can see that?»

« . . . no,» said Ezio.

«We have to actually be trying,» said Desmond, gently. «But I'm guessing that isn't true for you.»

«Well, _no_ ,» said Claudia. «Of course not! I just see - you really don't?»

«No,» said Ezio.

«Does this explain why you were so violent as a little girl?» asked Maria. «Because you could see who meant you well and who did not?»

«Wait,» said Desmond. «This sounds like a story I want to hear.»

Maria told a story that maybe would have embarrassed Claudia in her youth, but now that she had an explanation for what she could see and know, was just a funny anecdote. Desmond laughed at all the right places, and Ezio and Claudia took turns repeating his words for her. It was like team dinners in the sanctuary, before Lucy - before _Juno_ -

«Miles?» asked Claudia. «What's wrong?»

«Just wishing my own family had been anything like yours,» said Desmond. He must have said that in a worse way then he intended, because they were all staring at him, even Maria.

«Tell us about yourself,» she said. «I feel like you know everything about us, but we know practically nothing about you.»

Right. This talk. Desmond sighed. «The eagle's eyes pass down by bloodline, and they are stronger if you get it from both sides, so the assassins started - well, if it were livestock we'd probably call it breeding. A few generations of that, and most of us _did_ have eagle's eyes, but - it's no way to live, you know? My parents didn't even like each other. My mother left when I was six, my father treated me more like a tool than an actual human being - » He was aware they were staring again, pity and outrage together, but he couldn't stop talking, « - including training from hell and bars on the windows. The second I could, I ran away. I was sixteen.»

«Christ,» said Claudia. «Miles. You're welcome in our family.»

«I'm _dead_.»

«You are still welcome,» said Ezio. «We will not treat you like - like a common prisoner.»

He couldn't get more than ten striding paces from the man, but Desmond smiled anyway. «Yeah, I know. Thanks.»

«You do not need to thank us for simple human decency,» said Ezio.

«What?» asked Maria; and when her children told her, «No. That man was not your father.»

«I'm pretty sure - »

«That man,» repeated Maria, «was not your father, do you understand? You might have his blood, but you are like Altaïr, who was the son of none.»

«Yeah,» said Desmond. «Yeah. Thank you, Lady Auditore.»

«Well, that was melancholy,» said Ezio brightly after a moment. «I'm going upstairs for some more pleasant conversation. Mother. Claudia. Miles.»

« _Conversation_ ,» said Claudia.

«And other things,» said Ezio.

«As long as you pay,» said Claudia. Ezio waved an arm back at her.

«I have a question,» said Claudia, when he'd gone. «You have no body, at least not that most people can see. Fine. But a lot of men in your position would at least watch, Miles.»

«And?»

«And why _don't_ you?»

«Without love,» said Desmond, «it _is_ just breeding.»

«Mm,» said Claudia. «Well. While big brother is - busy - perhaps we can work some more on the Apple?»

«You know what? Let's. I am _just_ in the right mood to fight that thing.»

The Apple wasn't in any mood to fight, though. It just came **on** under his hand, glowing a steady gold. «Right,» he said and thought, **_library_**.

The list of acceptable commands stretched into the thousands, and each one had a description and sample. The could be used to modify one another, or chained together to make entire hierarchical orders. Desmond could immediately see why Claudia had wanted it off. He could feel the headache starting already.

But, no. He had work. **_Diagnostic_** , he thought, and the Apple was suddenly presenting him with years-decades-centuries-millennia of reports. Mostly it was very dull, and occasionally it was humans trying to use tools meant for their betters, in which case it executed - and here there was a long string of commands that Desmond was sure would translate into 'divide and control' - but mostly just very dull. All systems were functioning, but memory use was too high. Power supply continued uninterrupted, although in another forty thousand years it would need new - Desmond was almost entirely sure the word was _radioactives_. There were four hundred sixty-seven suspended programs, and two running. Would Desmond like to reactivate any of them?

Desmond would not. But he'd like to take a look at them.

The first fifty-six suspended programs were all attacks. It looked like someone had figured out how to use the Apple to kill, and had then just set off a new kill program every time. Possibly they hadn't even known that the old programs were still there. As he viciously cancelled each one of them, he could feel the memory usage shift over to those two running programs.

«Miles?» said Claudia, «Are you all right?»

Miles thought **_sleep_** before opening his eyes. «I have a pounding headache, but I'm fine.»

«How does that work? Your head is . . . »

«I don't know. I took a look at the library, and then I - someone, I think a lot of someones, kept giving this thing orders, and then never told it to stop. It had more than four hundred fifty orders just waiting. I was cancelling them. It now has slightly more than four hundred.»

«Ah,» said Claudia. «Do you want to keep going?»

«No; it is your turn. Don't look at the waiting orders, please; try and see if you can figure out what the two things it's doing are.»

«Very well,» said Claudia, and sat down to look at it.

The shadows stretched long, and then faded entirely into night. Desmond's headache, fortunately, faded as well. Eventually Ezio came back in and sat down, slouching contentedly. Then, suddenly, Claudia cried out, «Desmond - !»

«Desmond?» asked Ezio, on guard and on his feet all in one moment. This turned out to be good, since Claudia threw herself backwards out of the chair, away from the Apple, and he was only just able to catch her.

«No,» said Claudia, steadying herself. «No, I am alright. I just - he _died_.»

«He did?»

Claudia nodded. «He gave his life to protect everyone he loved. And everyone he hated. And, well, just everyone. He was so young, brother. He couldn't have been older than twenty, maybe twenty-five. And he died.»

«The Apple told you this?» asked Ezio.

«Sort of. Sideways. It is difficult to explain. But,» she added, looking over at Desmond with an expression that said she knew exactly who Miles was, and they were going to have a long talk about it when Ezio wasn't there, «I did figure out what it was doing.»

«Oh?» asked Ezio.

«The first thing was sums. Well, hardly sums! But I suppose I must call it something, and it is math, in some way. Tiny parts of tiny parts of things. It is not harmful, exactly, but it does not seem to have a point. Still, just because I could not see it does not mean it does not exist, so I left the sums alone.»

«And the second?» asked Desmond.

Claudia shook her head. «Don't ask me. Please. I am sick and heart-sore and I have a headache and all I want, now, is to go to sleep.»

«Sure,» said Desmond. «I'll quiet the Apple.» It only took a moment to do so, and he carried it while Ezio carried Claudia up to the room she and Maria shared. «Where does this go?»

«Under the bed, for now,» said Claudia. «I will hide it again in the morning.»

«Very well. Claudia . . . »

«Yes, I know,» said Claudia. «Off you go, brother.»

«Will she be alright?» asked Ezio, on the quiet ride back to Tiber Island.

«It's a headache, Ezio, not a gut wound. She'll be fine.»

«She seemed very distraught.»

«The way Apples hit you in the brain with information, I'm surprised she wasn't crying her eyes out. She was right, though. The best possible thing for her, right now, is sleep. And for you, too.»

Ezio rolled his eyes. «Yes, Miles.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the basic setup for this one is done. As always, comment when you find mistakes.
> 
> Honey is in fact an antibiotic and can be used like neosporin if you don't happen to have any neosporin on hand. Infection is not mold, but it is something trying to rot you while you're still alive. All soap, if you're using it properly, is antibiotic; most people don't, but that isn't the fault of the soap. Any other medical mistakes I made are my fault.
> 
> Why is it so hard to submit a paper? Oh well, I am not going to worry about it any more today. I am going to enjoy Shavuot, that one holiday where God handed out the Torah and everyone eats lots of dairy :D


	3. Country

Then it was summer in Rome, and it turned out that in the summertime, anyone who could leave did. Desmond could understand why: the sanitation movement wouldn't exist for almost another four hundred years, and the streets of medieval Rome were basically open sewers. The city was racked by outbreaks of disease on very nearly a yearly basis. Desmond looked at it in horror and told Ezio that no one - not a thief, not a mercenary, not a whore, and certainly no assassins - were to drink anything that wasn't either alcoholic or boiled. Preferably both.

Ezio caught on immediately. «Summer fever is caused by infection?»

«Most diseases that aren't cancer are,» said Desmond. «They spread when fluids from the sick - shit or pus or saliva - get into the water supply.»

«But the water comes from wells,» said Ezio.

«The wells get their water from the earth,» said Desmond. «The same earth where people empty their chamber pots, the same earth that soaks up the water when it rains. Water doesn't just sit still, even in earth. It _moves_. The Romans knew this.»

«They did?»

«They built the aqueducts to bring water dozens of miles from clean mountain streams. They knew clean water was essential for health, even if they did not know why.»

«Hmm,» said Ezio, and that day they went climbing around the old ruined aqueducts.

In June, at the next meeting, Claudia ordered Ezio to go to Monteriggioni.

«I'm needed here - »

« _I_ am needed here,» said Claudia. « _You_ have no duties, no students, nothing. Our people need you, Ezio. Our home needs you.»

«She is right,» said Desmond.

«I did not - » began Ezio, before he remembered that Bartolomeo and Machiavelli couldn't see Desmond.

«Besides, I've never really seen Monteriggioni,» continued Desmond. «Not in daylight, when it wasn't being attacked. I want to.»

«There isn't any pressing business,» said Machicavelli, slowly.

«See? You should go,» said Claudia.

«And when Cesare Borgia brings and army to get me?»

«As far as he knows, you are in Venice,» said Claudia.

«I don't think that is true,» said Ezio.

«He _is_ busy, though,» said Bartolomeo. «It is summer. He's at war. He can't abandon his sieges just to go get you.»

«He will.»

«He won't.»

«He _will_. Brothers, sister, you do not know what he will do to get the Apple!»

«So what? You won't have it,» said Desmond.

«He won't know that!»

«Won't he?» asked Claudia.

«What do you mean?» asked Machiavelli.

«We can make a copy of the Apple,» said Claudia. «First In clay and then in lead, and a thin coating of white gold to finish the likeness. It won't fool anyone holding it, but seeing . . . we can fake Apple sightings. In Venice, in Florence. In For - »

« _Not_ in Forlì,» cut in Ezio.

«Fine, then. Milan,» said Claudia.

«He won't believe that . . . will he?»

«As long as we do not make too many sightings, at too close an interval,» said Machiavelli. «I think he will. He won't bother looking too closely for the lie.»

Ezio's lips quirked. «Nothing is true.»

«That is really a terrible translation,» said Desmond. «What he actually said was, 'Nothing is absolute, but everything is possible.' Given the fact that I'm here . . . » he shrugged. «I think Cesare will believe the Apple is in Venice. He must already know Monteriggioni has been resettled, but why would he attack a place where the Apple isn't?»

«Oh, fine,» said Ezio. «I still think this is a bad idea, but I'll do it.»

So he sent a letter to Antonio in Venice, and in the meantime they made casts of the Apple, clay and then lead. It took some time to get them right, but lead, as Desmond learned, was a soft metal. It could easily be cast even with the heat of a home fire. By the time they got a message back from Antonio, they had half a dozen not-Apples ready for sightings all over Italy.

Antonio's letter, however, came with a different request: there was a brother, the one who'd been apprenticed to the traitor Perotto Calderon, and he needed someone to complete his training. Although he'd been in the group to find and dispatch the traitor, there were nevertheless some doubts about his loyalty. He'd fired to wound his master, but not to kill. As a result, the Shroud had been lost.

«What a mess,» said Ezio. «Calderon and his . . . _thing_ , with Lucrezia. I don't suppose you know whether he's loyal.»

«He is,» said Desmond. «Well. I think he'll go rescue his little brother at some point - Giovanni Borgia, Lucrezia's son. But it's not against the Creed, to love his family, and,» he shook his head, «it might convince Lucrezia to become a neutral observer rather than an enemy. Her son is certainly not safe where he is.»

«A mother's love for her child . . . » said Ezio contemplatively. «Then we will. Whatever else, Lucrezia's son has not done anything. He deserves safety.»

So they sent that letter off, and headed to Monteriggioni. It was a hundred and sixty miles, almost a week on horseback. The fields all around, which the Animus had rendered as grass, were planted with crops: wheat, already as tall as Desmond's waist, barley, and lentils. There was an olive orchard that the Animus hadn't rendered at all, and woodland, pastures with sheep and cows grazing contentedly.

«You look like you have never seen a farm before,» joked Ezio.

«I really haven't,» said Desmond. «Not like this. It's beautiful.»

«You lived in a city then?»

«Mostly I lived in hiding,» said Desmond. «It's easier to vanish in a big city.»

«Hm. True.»

Monteriggioni had clearly been burnt after she'd been sacked, but she'd been built in stone and tile, so the fire hadn't done much structural damage to the buildings. The vegetable gardens _had_ been burned, but it was only winter kale. Thanks to the Sienese help everyone had been back for spring planting, and by now you had to look to see the signs of fire. The people, inside the buildings, were clearly surprised to see Ezio; surprised, and pleased.

Ezio stopped in front of the smithy, and the blacksmith called, «Busy with this, my lord. Let me just - »

«Yes, I will wait,» said Ezio. While he did, a whole bunch of townspeople came to check that he was there, then went away again.

Eventually, the smith finished what he was doing and came out. The Animus had rendered him with the same skin it used for every blacksmith, but in actually, he was short and thick-set, with the bulging muscles of his craft. «It's good to see you again, my lord,» he said.

«Your - lord?» asked Ezio, and it hit Desmond that while he and Claudia knew Ezio had inherited upon Mario's death, _Ezio_ hadn't figured that out.

«Yes?» said the smith.

«I'm - » said Ezio, and then shut up. He _was_ , and even if he was the last person to know it, he had a duty. Ezio Auditore was not one to shirk his duties. « - sorry I stayed away so long, Fabio. Can you tell me what damage remains? I can see I will have to hire an architect.»

«Most of the town is unharmed, actually,» said Fabio. «The worst damage was to the walls and the villa, but there - they tore up the floors, and actually ripped the plaster off the walls!»

«Yes, they were looking for something,» said Ezio, and sighed. «How bad is it?»

«Honestly? When this mysterious treasure was not found, they took what they hadn't ruined and set the rest on fire. You are probably better off ripping down what remains, and building again from scratch.»

«Tch,» said Ezio. «Well. Walls first. Your safety is more important than a house I am not even living in. Where are Federico and Maria Christina?»

«Staying with the Ricci for the summer,» said Fabio. «They will be happy to see you.»

Ezio went on a walk through his town, making notes on what needed repairs. The townspeople had fixed the houses to the best of their ability, but Desmond noted some areas where supporting beams still needed replacement. The walls were mostly fine, except the east one which had a big gaping hole in it. The towers, which had hosted the fiercest fighting, were structurally sound but also still bore bloodstains on the inside. Overall, Desmond thought, salvageable. With enough silver, anyway.

The villa, on the other hand, was indeed a complete loss. Ezio looked at the cracked marble floor tiles and columns, the room full of ash that had once been his uncle's study, and sighed.

«Hey,» said Desmond. «You can rebuild it.»

«Not like it was,» said Ezio, and Desmond knew what he meant: not with his great-great-grandfather's rare books, his father's letters. Not with Claudia's meticulously kept ledgers, or his collection of antique swords, the paintings and the model of Leonardo's glider. That was all ashes, or taken away by the Borgia looters.

«No,» said Desmond. «Not the same, but just as good. Just as much home, to you and your family.»

« _Our_ family,» said Ezio. «Speaking of,» he added, and nodded to two figures coming up the stairs. «Maria Christina! Who let you out? You are going to get your dress dirty!»

«So what?» called the smaller of the two. «You weren't coming to see us!»

«Wrong!» said Ezio. «I just had a duty, as the lord of this town, to see first to its people and care. Hello Federico. How is my favorite nephew doing?» Desmond realized that these were _Claudia_ 's children.

«I'm your _only_ nephew, Zio 'zio,» said the boy, apparently Federico. «How is Mother doing?»

«Very well,» said Ezio. «Taking over the entirety of Rome. And yourselves?»

«School with the nuns is boring,» said Maria Christina, «but they let me play around in the dirt as much as I like.»

«They let you garden, you mean,» said Ezio, mock-severe.

Maria Christina shrugged. Then, apparently already bored with the topic, turned to Desmond. «Who are you?»

Desmond did a quick double-take, but Federico was looking at him too, curious. Right. Claudia had it, strongly and from both sides. It made perfect sense that her children had inherited the gift.

«I'm Miles,» said Desmond, squatting down. The kid couldn't be older than five. «Want to hear a secret?»

«Yes please!» said Maria Christina immediately. Federico was old enough to care about his image, so he said nothing but looked very interested nonetheless.

«I'm a ghost,» said Desmond, while simultaneously reaching to put his hands through Maria Christina.

She shrieked and pulled back and turned to Ezio, hiding her face in his thigh. Ezio said, «Miles! Do not scare my niece and nephew, please.»

Desmond shrugged, unrepentant. «They should know sooner rather than later. I'm a friendly ghost, Maria Christina; you shouldn't be scared of me.»

Maria Christina pulled her head back far enough to say, «There aren't any friendly ghosts.»

«How do you know?» asked Desmond. «Have you ever met any other ghosts?»

«No . . . » admitted Maria Christina.

«Then how can you say that we are all unfriendly?» asked Demond, in a reasonable tone. «Ghosts are just the souls of dead people. There are people who are good and bad, and friendly and mean, so you should get just as big a variety in ghosts.»

«But,» said Federico, «you didn't need to - what did you do, even?»

Desmond said, «Your mother wouldn't believe I was dead until Ezio put his arm through me. I thought is would save time. I don't - I can't touch people, and it doesn't hurt for me to walk straight through a person.»

«It doesn't?» said Federico, and walked through him. «Huh. Maria Christina, stop hiding. He's right.»

Maria Christina peaked her head out again.

«I'm sorry I startled you,» said Desmond. «It was supposed to be a fun surprise, not a scary one.»

«Oh.»

«Can you ever forgive me?»

Maria Christina appeared to think about this before she said, «Can you get Zio 'zio to give me a sweetmeat?»

Desmond laughed. «Nope.»

«Of course I will get you a sweet,» said Ezio. «We will go down to the baker's together.»

«Hey!» objected Federico.

«And one for you too, Federico,» said Ezio. «Come.»

That night Ezio wrote a letter to Claudia. He began with how her two children were doing: just as wild as ever. Then he asked for an architect, one who was good at walls, and warning her that this was going to be extremely expensive. Then he sat back, while the family who owned the house watch him anxiously. There had been almost a brawl offering hospitality, and Ezio had laughed and said he'd stay with each family that wanted him, in turn, until the end of summer came. It was easy to see they thought the world of him, and were worried he'd find their home and food wanting. He never would; they were his people, and that was enough.

«I am tired,» said Ezio. «I'd like sleep now. Perhaps there is a pallet you can lay out - »

«Certainly not!» said the matriarch, one Signora Simoni. «You will have our bed. No! Do not argue. Our lord has returned us. We will not shame ourselves by allowing him to sleep on a _pallet_.»

Ezio knew when he was beaten, so he went to the back room with the solid four-post bed. «Miles, will you keep watch?»

«Yes,» said Desmond.

Summer passed both slowly and quickly. The architect showed up, and masons, and the men who'd been Mario's condottieri took on the heavy manual labor of putting the walls back up. Most days, so did Ezio. Others he spent with his niece and nephew, teaching them the extremely basic beginnings of how to be an assassin, although from their point of view it was just fun games. Still others he went out to the fields to try his hand at farming. He was terrible at it, and after a while the farmers gently but firmly told him to shove off. Then he spent time he wasn't on the walls at the ruins of the villa, making plans, or in the church, sitting there in the profound silence.

The priest was a good man, but not a simple one. He knew, as everyone is Monteriggioni had to, what Ezio did, who he was. He never spoke of it, offered kindness and words of wisdom and, when Ezio was up for it, theological debate. Desmond believed he would have conducted the funeral for Madonna Solari, and gladly. After the Borgias, he was like a breath of fresh air.

It had surprised Desmond, Ezio's quiet faith. He'd been raised Catholic, because at the time, there really wasn't anything else to be; Martin Luther nailing his theses to a church door was still more than a decade in the future. Then Ezio had become an assassin, which you wouldn't have thought was compatible with the "no murder" part of the ten commandments. But then, Madonna Paola had taught him that how he chose to have faith, and to express it, was his business. The inside of the town church was painted beautifully, anyway, with scenes from the bible, and the windows were stained-glass, marvelous in sunlight, Desmond didn't mind sitting with Ezio, while he did whatever it was he did that was not confession.

In August, everyone had to help with the harvest. Each person required six acres' of grain to feed them for a year, and the Monteriggioni was almost five hundred people, not to mention the farms and holds. They had just over three weeks to harvest all the grain, dry it out so it wouldn't rot, and store it in barns. The mowers, people who wielded the massive curved blades that were scythes, moved ahead; behind them people bundled the grain into sheaves and stacked the sheaves together. Ezio was a mower, because he'd never in his life met a blade he didn't know how to use five minutes later, and he could get almost two acres clear in a day.

The work didn't end after the harvest: the geese were set loose on the fields to fatten on the grain that had fallen and the stubble. Then the fields were burned and mucked in and the whole stinking mess had to be turned over with one of the heavy wooden plows. They rotated fields and tilled the one that had been fallow. Finally, as September stretched on into October, the fields were sown with some of the grain and harrowed over.

«And they do this _every year_?» asked Desmond.

«Yes?» said Ezio, giving him an odd look. «Miles, your people must farm, surely?»

«Yes, but . . . »

«But?»

Desmond shook his head. «Tell them to plant alfalfa in the fallow field.»

«It's _fallow_ , Miles.»

«The sheep won't care, but the soil will. Alfalfa, Ezio.»

Ezio sighed, but did tell the people that he wanted them to support the growth of alfalfa in the fallow fields.

They got back to Rome in the last week of October.

«You know, it's weird,» commented Desmond. «This time of year, everyone would be getting ready to celebrate Halloween.»

«Halloween?» asked Claudia. It was a family dinner, the three Auditores and Desmond catching up after the summer apart.

«All Hallows Eve. The night before All Saints' Day,» said Desmond.

«People celebrate that?» asked Claudia. «How?»

«It's mostly a children's holiday. They dress in costume and go door-to-door, and people give them sweets.»

«Why?» asked Maria.

Desmond shrugged. «Don't ask me. It's some pagan holiday, with a thin layer of Christianity painted on top of it. I heard somewhere that the cakes were originally left out for the souls of departed family members. It's really mostly an excuse to let the children have a bit of fun before winter really sets in and it's too cold to be outside long.»

«How odd,» said Claudia.

«I guess,» said Desmond.

«Miles,» said Maria, slowly. «Do you - you do not believe in Jesus Christ, do you?»

« . . . I have seen the evil that Christians - not templars, just ordinary people - do in the name of God. I believe an omnipotent God would not let such things happen. I believe that in a world that had truly been saved, God would not even have to. I believe Joshua of Nazareth was good man, who spoke ugly truths and was murdered for it; but I don't believe he was divine.»

«Oh,» said Maria, faintly, when Ezio stopped talking.

«Does that bother you?»

«I'm . . . not sure,» said Marie. «The Church would say your soul is damned and you must repent, but you're already dead and clearly not in Hell. I would pray for you, however.»

Desmond shrugged. «It can't hurt.»

Claudia gave him a very odd look, but repeated the words.

After dinner, Ezio wanted to "reacquaint" himself with the Rosa's flowers, but Claudia said, «No. We need to work on the Apple.»

«Can't you and Miles do that?»

Desmond looked at Claudia. Claudia looked at Desmond, and names or no, the raptor in the room wasn't _Ezio_. Claudia said, «Don't go too far, brother.»

She put the sleeping Apple on the table between them with a dull thud. «Desmond.»

Desmond winced. «Desmond _Miles_. Like you are Claudia Auditore.»

«I _know_ ,» said Claudia. «I saw the whole thing. Lucy wasn't your enemy.»

«She - »

«We have _eyes_ that can see, you fool. Was she ever anything other than your ally?»

«But - »

«She was the best and last chance for Assassins and Templars to work together to avert the flare,» said Claudia. «So she had to die.»

«Oh, god - »

«Yes,» said Claudia. «You must have figured out a way to kill Juno, but not then, not while all she had to do to survive was slip into the Grey Web. So you came somewhere there is no Grey Web to kill her. You're not dead, Miles. You're just . . . in between, on the road, not fully anywhere. _That_ is the other thing this Apple is doing: anchoring you here, storing your memories.»

«But then - why am I stuck to Ezio? Shouldn't I be with the Apple?»

«I believe it is a matter of blood, and no one closer to you in blood exists anywhere.»

«Oh.» Then, «What are we going to tell Ezio?»

«We will tell him that we have succeeded in cancelling more of the orders on this thing, which will be the truth. Understand?»

«Yes,» said Desmond.

«Good,» said Claudia. «Then,» she motioned to the Apple, «we should get to work.»

He cancelled another half-dozen kill orders, and then got to a pair that were **forget** and **believe** , and he realized that those orders had been templars in Rhodes, and he'd just broken through to the actual Crusades. Grimly he started in on them.

He felt it when he switched from - he wasn't sure. Someone who wasn't faithful to someone who was, faithful and violent with it, commanding others to **believe** and **fight**. It felt like it was the first crusade, the disastrous one when they'd slaughtered and _eaten_ people because they were starving. Which explained at least a few things: this Apple had been claimed near the beginning of the First Crusade, and had made that conflict very much worse until it had been hidden in the Temple of Solomon for probably religious reasons. He cancelled half a dozen more of those orders.

«Miles? Are you well?» asked Claudia.

«No,» he said. «Just as a warning, we're in commands issued by some crusader commander on the First Crusade. Just ask for the Apple to diagnose itself, and then start killing orders.»

«Understood,» said Claudia, and dived in.

«What is she doing?» asked Ezio, when he came back.

«Telling the Apple to stop making a bunch of dead people try to siege Jerusalem,» said Desmond. «She's going to have a terrible headache. Be useful and make some willow bark tisane, will you?»

Ezio gave his a wry look, but did. «Have you learned anything else?»

«Nothing I didn't already know,» said Desmond.

Ezio raised an eyebrow. 

«Most of the actual Knights Templar weren't any more evil than other men, just misguided and afraid.» He sighed. «We're trying to put out the fire and clean up the mess before we start trying to read the library. You're up next.»

«Me? But - »

«Three of us can finish much more quickly than two,» said Desmond.

Ezio sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I'm late, I'm so late!
> 
> Short chapter this time because there isn't a really great stopping point in the next bit, which is when we (finally) get started on the plot.
> 
> People didn't really understand how aquifers work in the middle ages, which is why they kept putting their privy pits only a meters away from their wells. Romans famously did built aqueducts to get clean water, but they also didn't understand what made water infectious.
> 
> Farmers by the Renaissance did understand crop rotation, but they didn't understand why crop rotation works. Desmond does, so he suggests using the "fallow" field for alfalfa, which is a legume and therefore a nitrogen-fixer. (Humans can eat alfalfa, but it's primarily grown to feed livestock as hay.) If you want to know more about medieval farming, I cannot recommend enough the [Tales From Green Valley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRj1YYnsBGk) series. Although it is set 120 years after AC:Brotherhood and in a different country entirely, technology did not move quickly in those days and it presents a reasonable view of most tasks a Renaissance Italian farm would have done, with the exception of making olives and olive oil (since olives don't grow in England).
> 
> Halloween is almost certainly a pagan rite to propitiate fae/spirits/ghosts, that was adopted by Christianity when the people wouldn't stop doing it.
> 
> [The First Crusade was an absolute clusterfuck from beginning to end.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HIs5B2U7US0)


	4. Recruits

But he didn't, not that day or the next or the one after that. By the end of the week, Ezio was getting surly and snappish and then he turned a corner on the way to finding a patrol to tail and there was a Borgia guard flirting with a young woman. The woman clearly didn't want to be flirted with, and just as clearly couldn't find a way to say, 'piss off,' that didn't end with Borgia steel cutting at something important. The guard was the usual sort of red, _enemy_. The woman was _gold-green_ , the blue of _ally_ just beginning to overly the gold of _important_.

Ezio was walking forward before he really had enough time to process this, but he still said, «Don't kill him. He's an ass, but that's not worthy of death.»

«Stand in him, please,» was all Ezio said.

Desmond went and stood in the Borgia guard, who didn't immediately notice and then was too busy being punched. He stumbled, caught himself, turned to face Ezio -

Ezio looked at him, punched one hand with a fist of the other. «Hey, fucker. I'm going to enjoy this.»

«Wha - ?»

Ezio punched him again.

This time, the guard drew his sword. Ezio disarmed him in about two seconds, tossing the blade off to the side - conveniently toward the woman. Then he punched again.

«What did I do?» asked the guard, after the fourth time Ezio waited for him to get back up so he could punch him again. By now he was starting to feel the effects of Desmond moving to stand in him. «What - »

«You have been unfaithful to the wrong woman!» called out Ezio.

The man's face paled. «I - I'm sorry! I'll go back, I will - »

«You say that,» said Ezio, «but you don't intend to _do_ anything different.»

«I will! I will love her - »

«You will go home,» said Ezio, «and you will talk. Like you haven't in far too long. You will share your fears; you will be honest. And then you will listen, when she tells you her fears. And then together you will decide the path forward.»

«Y - yes! Yes. We will!»

Ezio punched him so hard he fent flying, then spat. «You'd better.»

He got up and ran, stumbling, away. The crowd, recognizing that the show was over, dispersed.

«Wow,» said Desmond.

Ezio turned to the young woman. «I hope I did not overly distress you, donna . . . ?»

«Donati,» said Donati, looking him up and down. She had the guard's sword, but she could see Ezio had muscles and a sword and the skills to use it. «My hero,» she said. It was the most unenthusiastic flirting Desmond had ever heard, and he'd been a bartender.

«No, none of that, please!» said Ezio, holding up his hands. «I just wished to make sure you are unharmed. I will be on my way now, unless . . . »

«Unless?»

«Well, that is a decent sword,» said Ezio. «You could use it to protect yourself, if you knew how to use it.»

«And you'll teach me, for a price?» asked Donati, dryly.

«I have a vendetta against these Borgia thugs - and the pit of vipers who command them. My price is that you fight them. No, you need not decide anything now! Take time, consider it carefully. If you decide that you want this, you may leave a message for Miles at the Blooming Rose.»

«The whorehouse?»

«It will get to me,» said Ezio, and turned his back.

«Was that a good idea?» asked Desmond.

«At the very least, she knows that I do not have any need of her virtue,» said Ezio. «And we cannot teach any who do not wish to be taught. This way, she will be able to choose.»

«You are going to tell her about the assassins, the templars, _before_ she joins this war, right?»

«As opposed to the papal armies, who learn cruelty from their masters even as they are kept in ignorance? No, Miles. We are not templars; we are assassins. Do you think she will join us?»

«Yes,» said Demond, who could already see the deadly woman Desideria Donati was going to be, and not just in memory.

«Good; but we should be wary.»

They followed Donati around. She went home, to the tiny room and bed she shared with another woman, Tessa Varzi. Varzi, of course, also glowed green: she and Donati were sisters, closer than blood, and came as a package deal. Donati told Tessa all about what had happened, and she and Varzi debated it before deciding that just _asking_ couldn't hurt. After four days of following Donati around, she left a message saying that she'd like to meet Ezio again. Well. She thought his name was Miles, but she wanted to meet him and talk about the actual price of him teaching her how to use a sword. She would be back at the Rosa in two days, at noon, and she was bringing a friend.

«So tomorrow,» said Desmond, «we can go have dinner with Claudia and Maria, work on the Apple, stay the night, work on the Apple more, and then have a hot meal ready when Donati arrives.»

Ezio groaned.

Also, it turned out, Ezio was crap at cooking. Desmond wasn't super great himself. Most of the time, this was fine: they just paid other people to do it instead. But it would be really rude to welcome a guest without something hot to eat, and after some discussion they decided to try pea soup because it didn't seem like something they could mess up _too_ too badly. So Ezio built up the fire a bit until he could swing the pot over to boil. While he waited, he hacked up some salt pork, and added that and some sliced carrots and onions to the pot with the peas. Desmond was supposed to keep an eye on the soup, and one on him, and pull him up if either was going drastically wrong.

Nothing did, though. The fire died down a bit so the pot stopped boiling so hard and became a low simmer instead. Ezio was hunched over at an angle that was going to hurt his neck later. It was supremely boring, like watching Ezio sleep. A bit after the clocks rang out ten, one of the whores came in, and stopped dead. She looked at Ezio, at the shining Apple he held, and Desmond prepared to have to get Ezio moving -

And then she went and checked on the soup. She made a face, which Desmond interpreted as 'not ready yet' and built up the fire a bit. The she went and cut a couple of thick slices of bread for herself, slathered them with butter, and sat down to eat.

While she was still eating, the next whore came in and did the same double-take. «I wouldn't,» she said then.

«But - »

«Do you think the papal forces would spare the life of a single whore? Especially one who had seen,» she gestured, « _that_?»

The second whore gave it another, longing look. «But what _is_ it?»

«I don't know,» said the first whore. Desmond, belatedly, took a second look at her, eagle-eyed. She wasn't an anonymous grey feature. She wasn't the blue of an ally, the red of an enemy. She wasn't green, like he'd half-hoped, or orange like he'd half-feared. She was . . . white, like someone had turned the bloom up on her soul. He didn't know what that meant, but it would bear watching. «And I think it's much, much smarter to forget we ever saw it. Don't you?»

«Yes,» said the second whore, after a moment. Her mouth had hardened into a thin line. «Yes, I do.»

They weren't going to forget, of course. It would come out under torture; but they wouldn't tell, and who would otherwise consider torturing a bunch of whores? Desmond went to go stand through the second whore, though, just to be sure. She collected bread a butter and got out after only a few minutes.

When the first whore was done eating, she stood up, cleaned the plate she'd used and dried it, and went away again. A few minutes later Claudia came in, shouting about how Ezio was being an _idiot_ , and he was lucky someone untrustworthy hadn't seen him.

«Someone untrustworthy did. A second woman - Kamellia, I think?»

Claudia sat down. «So. We have to make her forget.»

«No,» said Ezio.

«Ezio - »

« _No_ , Claudia. We are not Templars. We will not become them.»

«Then what?»

«Let her have it,» said Desmond, abruptly.

«What?» asked both Auditores together.

«Not for long. She's - human, as vanilla as it gets. She doesn't have any defenses. She's going to go under immediately. And then we take it back, and explain that the Borgia want to do that to everyone, and if they have the Apple they will. Then we give her a few days, before explaining that we can make her forget. It won't - consent is the one thing the Apple doesn't ask. Consent is what it was created specifically to deny. So let her see the consequences, and ask for her consent.»

«Oh,» said Ezio. «Will that work?»

Claudia rolled her eyes. «You are an idiot, brother mine.»

They did that. Kamellia, as predicted, went straight down, and even after they took the Apple away didn't come up again for another fifteen minutes. When she did, she blinked, and swayed, and said, «Madonna Giardiniera?»

«Yes,» said Claudia. «I'm here.»

«I just had the most awful nightmare - » Ezio held up the Apple, and she caught sight of it and turned her head to hide it in Claudia's shoulder. «No, no, no. I don't want - take it away!»

«Shh,» comforted Claudia. «Kamellia. We won't let it have you; we just needed you to understand why the Borgia must never have - »

«Yes! Yes, I understand. I - what _is_ that thing?»

«Evil,» said Ezio, and put it away. «I am sorry to have exposed you to the danger; I will certainly not do that again where anyone might chance upon me. Kamellia, would you like some soup? It's done now, or nearly.»

«Yes. Thank you.»

So Kamellia and Claudia and a half-dozen other whores, were all eating soup at the large kitchen table when Donati showed up. Another woman showed her in. She took in the bright sunlit room, the women all dressed in comfortable linen shifts and woolen gowns chatting comfortably, and said, «Miles?»

«Good morning,» said Ezio.

«It's almost noon,» said Donati.

«Yes; in that case would you like lunch? We've mint tisane and pea soup.»

It being mid-November, Donati and Varzi were both more than willing to come sit in a warm room and have a mug of hot tisane. «I thought we were going to talk about lessons,» said Varzi.

«We are, but we don't have to do it in the cold,» said Ezio.

«We shouldn't do it here, though,» said Donati.

«Mmh,» said Ezio. «There is an office, if you don't mind ledgers.»

Donati was clearly expecting an "office," a bunch of set pieces for someone with a few fantasies, and not an actual office. Claudia's had one whole wall lined with books, another filled with the fireplace, and the third across from the door with the (shockingly expensive) glass window that let in light to fall directly on the desk. A couple of comfortable chairs and wall hangings finished the room. Donati looked around and said, «Whose office is this?»

«The madonna's,» said Ezio. «She and I have an understanding. You wish to learn how to use a sword. You wish the fight the Borgia stranglehold on this city. Very well. My question is: do you just want to use a sword, so they cannot harass you?»

Donati looked startled, leaning on edge of Claudia's desk. Varzi asked, «What else is there?»

«You could fight back,» said Ezio, and triggered the catch on his hidden blade so it shot out. «You know what this is?»

Donati shook her head, but Varzi said, «An assassin's blade!»

Donati's eyes widened.

«We are building our forces. If you don't mind imperiling your immortal souls, we probably have a place for you.»

«I - » said Donati. «I need to think about this. I - if I don't want to. If _we_ don't want to. What happens?»

«We negotiate an appropriate sum for you to spend a few months learning swordplay, and after that we go our separate ways,» said Ezio. At her visible hesitation, he added, «Donati. We are not the Borgia. We don't kill people just because they are _inconvenient_ ; we kill when it is necessary, and only then. Good?»

«I still need time,» said Donati. «We need to discuss this.»

Ezio nodded. «We do not wish an army of unwilling conscripts; we wish a brotherhood of friends. If you find you cannot, you cannot. Think about it.»

«I will.»

« _We_ will,» said Varzi.

«That is all I ask.» He paused, and added, «Are you sure you won't have lunch?»

«Is that the kind of person assassins are?» asked Varzi. «Mother hens?»

«Yes,» said Desmond. «Cluck, cluck.»

Ezio chuckled. «This one is.»

«Very well then. I'll have some soup.» They had two bowls each.

She didn't come back for a week. Ezio and Desmond spent it looking for new recruits, except for the time that Kamellia caught Ezio when he came by the Rosa and hysterically begged him to - actually, she seemed kind of confused on that point herself. Ezio looked down at her, pityingly. «The best I can do is to make you forget,» he said. «Would you like that? You would have no memory of it, after.»

«Oh,» said Kamellia. «Yes. That, _please_.»

So they went to Claudia and got the Apple and Desmond held it while Claudia held Kamellia, and he told it to make her _**forget**_. She slumped a bit in Claudia's grasp, although her eyes were opened. Desmond shut down the Apple and handed it back to Ezio, who put it in its little velvet bag and put the bag next two a whole bunch of identical bags on Claudia's desk and went to get some tea. Kamellia was talking again when they got back, a little dazed, but she recovered over the next fifteen minutes or so.

«Whew,» said Claudia, when she left. «Let's never do that again. Brother, if you need to use the Apple, do it in here, with the door braced shut.»

«Yes,» agreed Ezio.

They found another candidate, this one male and bursting with rage at his helplessness in the face of the Borgia and their guards' relentless bullying. They followed him to be sure, of course, but he didn't have any dependents and was ready to make a difference.

«Him?» asked Ezio. «Are you sure?»

«No,» said Desmond. «But in a city of forty thousand, he's the third we have found.»

«True,» said Ezio, and the next time the Borgia guards came by to steal food from the man's cart, he was there to catch the hand and say, «What, the pope doesn't pay you enough, that you must steal from honest merchants? This is a person's livelihood.»

«I am hungry,» said the guard, and tried to pull his hand back. Ezio held on, and neither of their hands moved even a centimeter.

«I am not preventing you from buying a snack,» said Ezio, softly, ignoring the way the man futilely tugged at his arm. «I am just . . . reminding you. Of the Ten Commandments, one was 'do not steal.'» He let the man's arm go.

The guard, who had been braced to pull against it, didn't expect this and went flying backwards into his friends. For a moment it looked like they were going to retaliate. Then the one in charge, not the thief but a different man, took a look at Ezio's clothes, what little of his armor was visible, the quality of his sword, and clearly decided it against it.

«But Vincento - »

«We are going to walk away,» said Vincento, and set words to deeds. They could still hear the thief complaining as they turned the corner.

The instant they had, the merchant turned on them. «What do you think you were doing? Now they're all going to come steal from me, instead of just the local patrols!»

«What did you do to annoy them?» asked Ezio.

«I - »

«Ah. You did attack them, the first time they stole from you. They beat you quite badly.» He paused, tilting his head. «And now they take every opportunity to remind you of it.»

«Yes, and they're not going to forget that in a hurry!»

«Well, no,» said Ezio. «How would you like to be able to pay them back a little?»

«A little?»

«Or a lot. Not just to beat up those particular soldiers, I mean. To throw the current pope out of the vatican.»

The man's eyes widened. «And put you in?»

«No,» said Ezio. «I am not a religious man. I just think that the Spaniard and his vicious little get have made free with Italy for too long. You don't have to answer immedia - »

«Yes,» interrupted the man. «What do you need me to do?»

Then Varzi _did_ come back, Donati in tow, so it was them and Ubaldi and Ezio. He said, «We should really do this after the holidays. My mother will kill me if I'm not with her.»

Donati gawped. Ubaldi said, « _You_ have a _mother_?» 

«All men do,» said Ezio.

«Yes, but - I thought she was, I don't know, a whore. Or dead.»

«Or both,» said Donati.

«No,» said Ezio. «Actually, since you don't have anywhere to go, you should all come eat with us. Christmas is better when it isn't just two people.»

«How,» began Varzi, «did you - »

«I followed you around,» said Ezio. «I would not have made the offer had either of you had young children or old relatives. People counting on you. You don't. Therefore, you would have been alone for Christmas, which is very nearly a crime even if you don't have a brotherhood.»

«Is that what we are?» asked Ubaldi. «Brothers?»

«And sisters,» said Desmond.

Ezio repeated this, and added, «You don't have to come if you really do not wish to, but it's good to be with family on Christmas. Even if they are not family you were born to.»

So Ubaldi and Varzi and Donati did come early on the twenty-fourth to the Tiber Island warehouse, which had just been more or less emptied of salt fish and was now cavernously empty, echoing. He led them up two flights of stairs to the caretaker's suite. Ubaldi boggled. «You _live_ here?»

«Some of the time,» said Ezio. «The building belongs to an enemy of the Borgia; he has given a perpetual loan to use it as a home base. I have not had any need of the space, and it is really a warehouse, so my sister has been managing it. She said she set aside some of the fish . . . and here we are.» The part of the kitchen used as the larder was full, in fact, with fish and vegetables, flour and suet. Ezio looked at it in dismay.

Ubaldi, on the other hand, said, «Right. First thing is to get the fire built up. Do we have water?»

«If you're going to boil or bake it, there is a well downstairs,» said Ezio. «But if you're not, use water from the blue barrels.» There were two of them, one laying on its side below and one up on the shelf above, each with a tap. «I've already boiled that. It's safe.»

« . . . what?» asked Donati.

Ezio sighed. «I have a doctor friend. He says in order to be really clean, everything must boil for half an hour: the plates, the bowls, the mugs, the cutlery, even the _water itself_. The blue barrels contain such water. If we are cooking, we wash our hands in the boiled water - with soap! - first, and after any time we handle raw meat.»

«These rules are ridiculous,» said Ubaldi.

«But they won't hurt you,» said Ezio, «so you will follow them.»

Ubaldi sighed.

As the only one who knew how to cook, Ubaldi was put in charge. He quickly figured out that Ezio was good for chopping or shredding things, Donati could make many kinds of dough, Varzi didn't mind dirty work like gutting and cleaning, and he could use the long-handled pans to cook things over the fire in the enormous clay hearth. It worked quite well; by midafternoon everything was either ready in dishes by the fire to stay warm or waiting to bake in the makeshift Dutch oven they'd devised out of a deep pot and a shallow pan. They cleaned up, using soap and water, and got to work putting up the decorations. There weren't many, it turned out. Christmas trees weren't a thing yet, and even the yule log was really only German. Instead, there was a beautiful little Nativity, and wreaths made of laurel and bay which smelled wonderful.

«I think this is the most christmassy Christmas I've ever been to,» said Desmond, impressed.

Desmond could _see_ Ezio wanting to ask, and not doing so because of the other two people in the room. It was hilarious.

Maria and Claudia arrived not too much later. Ubaldi didn't know either of them, but the women recognized Claudia. «Madonna Giardiniera?»

«Call me Claudia,» said Claudia, coming forward to give her a hug and two kisses.

«But - what about the Rose?»

«I will have to go back later, of course, but I can take enough time for a Christmas dinner with my family.»

«Your family.» Donati looked from her to Ezio, and back again, obviously judging their relative ages. «You are . . . married?»

Ezio choked. «She is my sister!» he protested. «And this is my mother.»

All three of the assassin recruits looked at her. Maria very clearly was not and had never been a whore, and wasn't dead, either. Ubaldi recovered first. He took her hand to kiss it. «Pleased to meet you, Donna . . . ?»

«Auditore,» said Maria, smiling wryly.

That was a name they all knew. Donati took a step back. Ubaldi, who was still holding Maria's hand, just looked panicked. Varzi looked . . . calculating.

«But - that means you - » said Donati. «You are _Ezio Auditore_!»

"Si," said Ezio. He wasn't quite smiling, but there was a smile about his lips, trying to come out.

«They say you punched the pope,» said Ubaldi.

«Several times,» said Ezio easily.

«They say you climbed the towers of San Gimigiano,» said Donati.

«Yes . . . ?» said Ezio.

«On the _outside_ ,» said Donati.

«Not all of them,» said Ezio.

«They say you singlehandedly won the Battle of Forlì for Caterina Sforza,» said Varzi.

«I did not. Plenty of good men died that day, protecting their homes.»

«They say,» said Donati, slowly. «They say that you are haunted.»

«Who says that?» asked Ezio.

Donati shrugged. «You know. People.»

Ezio was not fooled, but he hid it well. Desmond was not fooled and didn't have to hide it; he waved at Donati. Donati's eyes widened just the tiniest fraction.

Ezio said, «Yes. I am.»

Ubaldi snorted. «They say you are mad.»

«Quite probably,» said Ezio. «But it is like the water, I think. I'm not insane in a way that will harm either of you. You can leave if it is too upsetting, of course. I won't force you to stay.»

«After I cooked all that food? I think not,» said Ubaldi.

So they sat down to the feast, and enjoyed it. Claudia kept making aside comments specifically to make Desmond laugh. Donati also kept looking over to where Desmond was sitting by the hearth, then looking back. After a while, he got it: she could see him, but only out of the corners of her eyes. She was . . . worried, and trying not to show it. Varzi had noticed something was up, but clearly _couldn't_ see him, and was impatient to be able to ask Donati.

After the meal, Claudia and Maria did have to go back to the Rosa. Apparently, a lot of men who hated god came to the Rosa on Christmas, or something like that. They'd close before midnight mass, so that all the whores could go if they wanted, but it would be busy in the meantime. That meant it was Ezio and Ubaldi and Varzi and Donati cleaning up, which they did by first covering the dishes of food with their lids and emptying any inedible leftovers into the scrap bin before using a rough cloth with to get the plates mostly clean, and then, per his orders, putting everything into the big cauldron pot to be boiled. It took them several trips to fill the pot, and then a long time to bring the cold water up to boiling.

«Explain to me again why we are doing this?» complained Ubaldi.

«Aside from the health benefit, you will need to build a lot of muscle,» said Ezio.

Ubaldi sighed.

Even after everything was dry and put away, though, there was still time before they had to head to mass. This was time for games, so they brought out a board for an unfamiliar game called rithmomachy. It was a weird combination of chess of math: all the pieces had number values, and all the moves had number values, and to capture you had to use a piece and combination of moves that allowed the capturing piece to have a higher value than the captured. Donati didn't have a head for numbers, but Varzi and Ubaldi did. They and Ezio went back and forth twice before it was time to head out.

Donati hung back a little, while Ubaldi headed down the stairs. "Maestro Auditore . . . "

«Tell her I'm friendly,» said Desmond. «Merry Christmas.»

«Oh. Is that it?» asked Ezio. «Miles wishes you a merry Christmas.»

«Miles is . . . the ghost?»

«Mmh,» said Ezio. «He can't touch anyone except sometimes me, and for a ghost who died the way he did, he's really very cheerful. You don't need to worry about him. He's just . . . there.»

«Oh,» said Donati.

«Even when I don't want to be,» said Desmond.

«He can't get too far from me,» added Ezio as an afterthought. «So all you have to do to escape is go away, if you need to. He cannot follow.»

«Oh,» said Donati again. «I - that's all right. I just wanted to know, I think. To mass?»

«To mass,» agreed Ezio.

Desmond didn't enjoy religion much to start with, and he enjoyed it even less in the gaudily decorated churches of Rome. He knew Ezio didn't like Rome's churches much either: they stood too much on ceremony and not enough on helping people. As soon as they entered, though, Donati visibly relaxed. Well, whatever worked for her.

He spent the mass amusing himself by climbing the wall Ezio had conveniently sat next to. Surprise number six, a pleasant one, was that the limits on how far he could go had unexpectedly relaxed some and he could now get a further three or four meters from Ezio, which was enough that he could get up onto one of the chandeliers and watch from amongst a bright blaze of candles. An actual living person would have gotten burned, so he supposed there were some benefits to being a ghost after all.

Afterwards on the way home he said, «I never really liked Catholicism much, but the signing was nice.»

«Catholicism?»

«Um. Oops,» said Desmond, and, «Pretend I didn't say that.»

«Miles,» said Ezio, almost hesitantly. «I know you don't like talking about - your past, the things you remember - but. You seem to know everything that happened to _me_ , and you care, and it helps. I know I can't help you in the same way, but I _will_ listen.»

«I know,» said Desmond, and sighed. «I can't tell you, and not just because no one should know their own future, but . . . I know. It helps.»

Christmas day, in Renaissance Italy, was less about gifts and more about good food with family and friends. They went to the Rosa, where the whores had prepared a second feast. There were a dozen of them, and with Maria and Claudia and the four assassins, almost twenty.

They'd cooked an entire lamb.

And then it turned out that they didn't stop partying for _twelve days_. Desmond hadn't ever really studied Shakespeare, but it turned out the play had been, or was going to be, written for a debut performance at the end of almost two weeks of nonstop festivities. Who knew? Ezio certainly didn't have trouble getting into the spirit: he visited la Volpe at the thieves' den, which was packed with celebrants who couldn't be bothered to cook themselves; Machiavelli at his handsomely-outfitted home; and even took a ride out of the city to the barracks where Pantasilea kept her husband's soldiers on a gentle but iron-clad leash.

«I mean, I get why you do it,» said Desmond, on the way back. «Winter is so ugh when you can't read and the light's terrible anyway.»

«You . . . can read?» asked Ezio.

«Not Latin,» said Desmond. «English. And a little bit of Italian. It's . . . kind of weird, to not be able to read. How can assassins live and work independently, in far-off cities, if they have to keep sending back pigeons with the letters they stole?»

« . . . that is a good point,» said Ezio.

«Besides, education is . . . templars like to control the flow of knowledge. People are easier to lie to when they're afraid, right? And it's easy to make people be afraid when they don't understand things. Assassins have always supported knowledge, not just to combat templars but for its own sake. Things get better, when everyone understands - well, take the boiling. If everyone did that, if everyone knew how infection spreads and how to kill it, _there would be no summer epidemics_. So. Education is important, which means we support literacy. No exceptions.»

«Ah,» said Ezio. «The future, then.»

Desmond's brain screeched to halt. «What?»

«You kept doing things, like reciting the Creed in the original Arabic, speaking about Altair as though you were there,» said Ezio. «So I thought maybe you had been. But there were other things: you mother language is English, and you don't think I should know my future, and your medical advice actually does stop infection. _No one_ I've ever met who claimed to do that could actually do it, before.»

«I don't - » sputtered Desmond. «I'm not - »

«You are a terrible liar,» said Ezio. «Just now you weren't speaking in hopes of a better future. You were speaking as someone who grew up in a world without plague, and knows how to stop it in this one, and is frustrated by how stupid everyone is in the past. Am I wrong?»

«No, but - »

«But?»

«I like - liked being alive, even if my life was shitty and short. I like being here now, with you,» and to his surprise it was true. «I'm afraid if I push things too much, I won't eventually exist.»

«What,» said Ezio.

«It's called the grandfather paradox,» said Desmond. «If you go back in time and kill your own grandfather, then who goes back in time? You wouldn't even have to kill anybody, necessarily; you just make sure your grandparents don't ever meet, and - »

«Yes, I see,» said Ezio. «But why do you think I would do that?»

«All right,» said Desmond, suddenly impatient to have this conversation over with. «Tell me who your ancestors were five hundred years ago. List them all off. I'll wait.»

« _Five hundred years?_ »

«Any large change is guaranteed to affect at least one of them,» said Desmond sweetly.

«Five _hundred_ years?»

Desmond sighed. «And this is why I didn't want to tell you.»

«Five hundred _years_?»

«The past is a different country,» said Desmond, quoting something he couldn't quite remember. He laughed at bit. «And Italy's a different country, too. But I've been to Italy. I didn't realize how different the past is - was? »

«Is.»

« - until I got here.»

«You said you like being here,» said Ezio, sounding like he was regaining some of his equilibrium.

«God help me,» said Desmond. «Everything is terrible here. Everything but you. And Claudia and Maria.»

«The recruits?»

«No, they're terrible too, but at least that's fixable.»

«The Brotherhood?»

«Now you're just fishing,» said Desmond.

«It was worth a try.»

They rode along companionably for a while before Ezio said, «Five hundred years, though. What's it like?»

« . . . much cleaner,» said Desmond. «Once people know that disease spreads when you let raw sewage rot in the street, they have a good incentive to find a better way of dealing with it.»

«And people are sick less, because your doctors are not terrible?» said Ezio, with what sounded like half a smile.

«People are sick . . . differently,» said Desmond. «If you live long enough, your body starts wearing out: human bodies really only last about sixty years. So children don't die as much of things like measles, but old people do of things like cancer and dementia. Still, at least adults can follow directions when the doctor gives them.»

«Not a weekly bleeding?» teased Ezio.

Desmond sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still Friday over here in California! Barely, but it is!
> 
> As always, posted unbeta'd, so if you spot errors please let me know.
> 
> Christmas really did last twelve days in the middle ages, although of course the Christ Mass (celebrating the birth of Christ*) was the most important part. Before electric lights and antidepressants, the winter solstice, which usually occurs around Christmas, is the most dismal time of the year; therefore, a huge holiday happened then to offset the depression. The holiday is much older than Christianity, of course.
> 
> I've decided to learn immunology, for purposes of getting a job. It is amazing that we know as much about the human immune system that we do, considering how finely-tuned and complex it is.
> 
> *Despite all textual evidence pointing to Jesus having been born in the spring.


	5. Training

In January, the whole city seemed to be talking about something that had happened at one of the Borgia parties over the Christmas season. It took Desmond some time to figure it out: one of the French captains had gotten into a slightly drunken brawl with one of the papal guard captains, apparently over some woman. The woman in question, one Ortensia Orsini, had fled the city. The actual damage was only a broken nose and a twisted ankle, but the city seemed to support the Borgia guard and the whole thing left a sense of lingering resentment against the French forces in the city.

So it was nice to know that Claudia's plans, at least, were going off without a hitch.

On the second Monday of the new year, Ezio began training his new recruits. Or rather, Claudia did; Ezio started them off with the whores, just like he had, learning how to blend and vanish. Donati was nervous at first, but after Claudia made it clear that this was all she was _going_ to learn, she relaxed. Varzi seemed to have _been_ a whore at some point, because she already knew all of it. Ubaldi flirted relentlessly with the whores, who flirted right back but informed him he'd have to pay if he wanted anything else.

Ezio had new clothes made for them, which looked good-quality but not too expensive, normal. In reality they were filled with pockets and sheaths and flat little pieces of steel sewn in over the arteries and organs that made good targets. Then he made them practice until they could wear them easily, as though they were just normal people going about their ordinary lives.

«Oof,» said Uberti, halfway out of breath just from carrying a bucket up the stairs when kitted out. «And you wear this _every day_?»

«No,» said Ezio. «Mine also has mail.»

Uberti shook his head.

It was at this time that Vecellio, the almost-assassin that Antonio wanted them to train, arrived. Machiavelli crossed his arms - doubts about his loyalty - but said nothing, so he joined them in the Tiber Island warehouse. He knew most of everything already, so he was useful in helping to train the others. However, he had a fiery temper, and he and Ubaldi tended to set each other off.

«You should save your punches for our enemies,» said Ezio, while both of them sat in the kitchen.

«We just got - carried away,» said Ubaldi, then winced as Vecellio dabbed bruise balm onto his blackening eye.

«You constantly get carried away,» said Ezio. «I don't mind if you want to fight, but at least do it _safely_. Wrap your hands. No facial strikes. That kind of thing.»

Vecellio and Ubaldi shared a look. They didn't stop fighting after that, but they did stop bloodying each other on a weekly basis, so Ezio and Desmond decided that it was a win.

When all of the apprentices could look like they weren't walking around with an arsenal, Ezio introduced them to la Volpe and his crew, for lessons in running and climbing and stealing. Donati gave an unhappy look at the theft, but otherwise said nothing. Varzi shut her mouth and learned. Ubaldi wanted to immediately go rob every Borgia guard he could find blind, but was terrible at it. Vecellio, who already knew most of this, was very plainly put-out when Varzi beat him in a pickpocketing exercise. The thieves laughed and teased them all equally, and gradually, Donati and Ubaldi relaxed enough to become good at casual pickpocketing.

The other thing, one that Ezio and Vecellio taught the other three, was how to read. A real industry hadn't started yet, so paper was only made out of old and worn-out linen clothing; as such, it was unreasonably expensive. Parchment, made from animal skins, was even worse. It turned out that what people mostly wrote on, especially students, were tablets made of a wooden frame like a portrait, with wax taking the place of the picture. They could use wooden sticks to carve letters into it, and then press it flat again when they were done.

Varzi did it as quietly and competently as she did anything else, but neither Donati nor Ubaldi were good at it. They learned their letters well enough, but they had to carefully sound words out, one letter at a time. It would never do for assassin work, so their days were split: reading and writing in the morning, and then physical training in the afternoon. They improved, slowly. Desmond learned much more quickly how to read and write in Italian.

A couple of weeks in, Donati stayed back after Ezio had dismissed them. "Ah, Maestro," she said. «I would - I have a question.»

«Yes?» asked Ezio.

«Or, well,» said Donati, looking around like she thought there was a spy. «For Miles?»

«Yes?» repeated Ezio. «He is here. He can hear you.»

«Uh,» said Donati. Then she blurted, «What happens after you die?»

It was not the question Desmond had been expecting. «I don't - I remember dying and then I remember waking up here. I don't remember if anything happened in between, and I don't - if there is anything after, I don't know that, either. I'm sorry, Donati: I can't tell you.»

«Oh,» said Donati, soft and sad. He knew from that time they're followed her around that she had lost her family, fairly recently, and if it hadn't been for Varzi she maybe _would_ have had to become a whore. As it was, without the invitation the two of them would have put on a meagre meal for Christmas. Now, he saw, she would also have been mourning the whole time.

«If you are worried,» said Desmond, «then maybe you should read the Bible yourself? The Church likes to . . . not talk about the inconvenient parts, which is large swathes of it, and most of the more metaphysical parts as well. But you have your letters now, and I think there are Italian translations of the Bible. You can learn, and read what Jesus said, and decide for yourself.»

Donati looked surprised when Ezio relayed this. «I know,» said Ezio. «He gives good advice. Often very, very strange; but good. Claudia has a copy of the Bible, but it is in Latin. I can purchase one in Italian, if you like.»

«Yes, please,» said Donati. «And - he can hear me?» Ezio nodded. «Thank you, Miles.»

«You're welcome,» said Desmond.

«I thought you don't believe in god,» said Ezio, once she'd left.

«I don't,» said Desmond. «That doesn't mean I'm not going to encourage others to find their own truth. Nothing is absolute, after all.»

With something she wanted to read, Donati's reading and writing both rapidly improved. Ubaldi was not to be outdone, so he asked Ezio to buy something for him to read too. On Desmond's advice, this was a translation of Homer's _Odyssey_ , because who didn't love a good adventure story? This one was so old it was respectable. Then Varzi asked, and Desmond, who'd gotten a better sense of her, suggested a medical treatise: not a Greek one, because those were more than halfway placebos, but a translated Arabic text from the East, where people practiced medicine that actually worked. They still took time to sound the words out, but less as the weeks went by.

At about the time they got good enough to be able to sight read, Ezio started them out on missions. Not _hard_ ones - steal from one of the Borgia messengers that went constantly about the city, read whatever message they had, and then replace the letter without the messenger ever noticing it had been missing - but challenging enough for the three novices. For Vecellio, he had more complicated missions, to insert himself into guard towers dressed in papal red, and listen to all the rumors he could. From this, they got a good idea about how Borgia patrols and Borgia money were moving around the city. They reported it to Claudia, at the usual Sunday lunch.

«Hmm,» said Claudia.

«Is that good or bad?» asked Ubaldi.

«Not either, yet. I need to write to some friends. Brother, how is your forgery these days?»

«About to get a lot better, I assume,» said Ezio.

«You know me so well,» said Claudia.

After Ash Wednesday, Ezio took them out to Bartolomeo's camp for a couple weeks of learning how to use a sword. Vecellio and Bartolomeo were friends already, and went to go have a reunion spar. Ubaldi took to it immediately. Donati . . . did not. «I know we are assassins,» she said that night, in the two-man tent she shared with Varzi, «but . . . I don't know that I could kill someone just for taking coin from the Borgia.»

Varzi tilted her head. «You think that our Master does that?»

« . . . no.»

«You should talk to him,» she said.

In the morning, Donati did, telling Ezio that she couldn't kill people who were just working for coin.

«Good,» said Ezio. «Hold tight to that. The instant you forget that our enemies are human is the moment you, too, become a monster. Act only in self-defense, or in defense of others; if you are not _certain_ that your target must die, stay your blade. It is the only way we can be assassins and not lose ourselves.»

Donati's eyes widened, and she nodded once. That day, she went to their lessons with renewed vigor.

When they got back to the city, Ezio said, "Bene," and «I think it's time to take a look at these so-called 'sons of Romulus.'»

It really wasn't fair, five assassins against what were, under the trappings, mostly just teenagers. Ezio took them down fast but not deadly, and Donati and Vecellio followed his lead. They only person who wasn't was their leader, who was obviously older and better-armed and more experienced. He took one look at them, calculated his chances, rated them as 'not high,' and dropped his weapons in surrender. He was a mercenary, it turned out, and he was being paid to lead these younger men in roughing up the people of Rome.

«By whom?» asked Vecellio.

«Dunno. I get told by a messenger, and the messenger gets paid by - »

«Yeah, it's all very cloak-and-dagger, and if he doesn't actually know I'm your great-Aunt Margaret,» said Desmond.

Ezio stepped forward, and said, very softly, «Who is paying you?»

« . . . the papal guard. Someone in the Cardinalate. Beyond that I really _don't_ know!»

«Yea, but _we_ do,» said Ezio, and turned to walk away.

«That's - that's it? You're not going to kill me?»

Ezio paused, and turned back around. «Would it solve anything?»

«But - I _can_ just go tell the Papal Guard - »

«They already know I'm after them,» said Ezio. «Consider, instead, what the Spaniard does to those who fail him. My advice would be to get out of the city - out of Italy if you can manage it - but of course, it is your life.» He turned again, and the assassins went with him.

Ezio went to Claudia and told her that they'd need more space soon: a training area at the least, and he'd like to have space for a small library and armory as well.

"Va bene," said Claudia, and, «When are we next going to bang our heads on the Apple?»

« . . . right now, I suppose,» said Ezio, and between the three of them they managed to clear another sixty-odd orders, which were mostly **kill** or **believe** or **forget**. In one instance, it was **solve** , and that was weird enough to kick Desmond up back out of his fugue.

"Claudia," he said. «I have a new command. Come take a look. What does 'solve' do?»

**Solve** , it turned out, was a _useful_ command. It used the human input as a brainstormer, and then ran the Calculations until a viable solution to a problem was found. With the caveat that if a solution wasn't found quickly, it could fry the brain of the human in question. Or, when Claudia queried further, the brain of an Isu. They designed Apples to use humans, though.

«Is that what happened to you?» asked Ezio, looking at the Apple in horror.

« . . . more or less. I was doing something different, but, yeah. That's how it killed me. Good to know it would have killed an Isu, too.»

« _Good to know_?» asked Claudia, outraged.

He looked at her shining incandescent fury and said, «I'm pretty sure that if Minerva had still been alive, she'd have done it herself. It's good to know that they learned from their mistake - or that one did, anyway.»

«You're still dead,» said Ezio, sounding almost serene, which meant he was about two seconds from killing someone. Except that in this case, all the someones he would have killed were long dead already.

Desmond shrugged. «It was worth it.»

It was clear Ezio didn't think so; but Ezio was not in possession of all of the relevant facts. Claudia, who was, said, «It was your choice, I suppose.»

«Yes,» said Desmond. «It was.»

Claudia went above and beyond, as usual, and cleared out the subterranean level of the warehouse for them. It was not actually very good warehouse space, because clearly at some point in the past it had been a number of smaller basements, and when the warehouse was built above they'd just knocked holes through the walls to connect them all. It left a whole bunch of awkwardly sized- and shaped- rooms behind, and those walls couldn't be taken down entirely because they were load-bearing and no one wanted the ceiling to come down.

It made an excellent base of operations, though, just as Desmond remembered.

Once they'd gotten it outfitted, Ezio sat his recruits down at the workbench, took off his bracer, and said, «And now it is time for you to learn the weapon of an assassin.»

It took them a week to learn how to strip a hidden blade, and then assemble one of their own. It took longer than that for them to learn how to use them in a fight. Swordplay was almost always about who had the longer reach. Hidden blades were all about getting way closer than your enemy expected before they had time to react, and often before they knew you were there. Desmond now knew that the Animus renderings of Ezio actually _fighting_ with one were absolutely impossible. At best, he could have been using the plate on the outside of his forearms as shield, which he used to distract the recruits before disarming them until they caught on and started planning around it.

Still, as Lent wound down towards Easter and the endless winter mud was beginning to turn to spring sogginess, they were good enough at weapons - hidden blade, sword, throwing knives, and crossbows - that Ezio trusted them to begin shadowing him. It was a good test of their skills, and both he and Ezio were pleased when they managed to do it, four times out of five. The fifth was invariably when Ezio had spotted a feather in a crow's nest somewhere and had decided to start climbing the nearest building to get at it.

«Why do you still collect these?» asked Desmond, as he landed soft-footed back on the ground. «Maria is better now.»

"Si," said Ezio. «Better, but . . . she still lost two sons.»

And, indeed, when they next went to the Rosa and Ezio presented the handful of feathers to his mother with a flourish, he could see the bittersweet love in the way she fought her tears. Desmond did not ask again.

Then it was Easter. Or rather, it was Palm Sunday, Holy Monday, Holy Tuesday, Spy Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Black Saturday, Easter Vigil, and then Easter. The city, freed from the observance of Lent, went absolutely _wild_. Desmond could see that everyone was extremely happy to be done with the grey dreary days of winter, even if they hadn't really ended yet, and were pushing it all into this one great celebration, but . . .

At least the music was nice.

Donati, being Donati, picked up on it and asked.

Desmond sighed. «I don't think we should be celebrating nailing a good man to a tree,» he said. «And if you don't believe that he was divine, that's all it was, really: the people in power murdering a good man for being inconvenient to them. I honestly believe that if Jesus were to come again today, walk into Saint Peter's Basilica, they'd deny it was him because he'd demand that they use all the gold to pay for food for the hungry. That's not . . . »

«It must be very bleak for you,» said Donati. «Not alive, not completely dead, and unable to feel His love.»

«If you're going to try to convert me, you should know, I - »

«No,» said Donati, cutting Ezio off before he'd gotten past the word 'convert.' «You are already dead. I just . . . I didn't believe that it was possible to be a good person without the light of Christ.»

«And now?» asked Ezio. «Desideria?»

«Master, don't ask stupid questions.»

Just after Pentecost began, they found their fifth recruit; or rather, their fifth recruit found them. Desmond and Ezio were tailing a Borgia patrol, Ezio at ground level in the crowd, Desmond on the roof keeping lookout. Desmond was really not expecting someone to run through him up there, but someone did. Desmond, who'd been looking with eagle's eyes, saw the person as _green_ , and had to quickly switch over to normal sight to see the - teenager, really, not much older than a boy - go leaping off the building -

«Ezio!»

\- to land where Ezio had been, half a second before. Now he'd fallen into an automatic defensive stance, one hand on the sword of his hilt. The assailant had clearly been expecting Ezio's body to help break his fall, but he'd gone into it prepared to miss so he tumbled and came up just fine. Desmond, who didn't have to worry about things like sticking the landing, jumped down too.

«Who is this?» asked Ezio.

«No clue,» said Desmond. «He just ran through me.»

«Mm,» said Ezio. «Who are - » and then Ezio got a good look at him and said, in shock, « _Claudio_!?»

«Hah, yes!» said Claudio, punching the air in victory. «I knew you'd remember me!»

«What,» said Ezio, taking his hand off his sword, «is going on?»

What was going on, it turned out, was that Claudio had decided that he wanted to grow up to be an assassin like Ezio. Claudio's father, who was a thief, did not approve. It was causing . . . some friction.

«But,» said la Volpe, looking over to where Claudio was sitting, shame-faced, «none of us thought he'd run away to go find you.»

«Yes,» said Ezio, considering, and turned to ask Claudio directly. «How did you?»

«I went to that brothel, the Blooming Rose,» said Claudio. «And the madonna there sent me to this warehouse. But there was no one there. I decided to follow the Bogia patrol route from the rooftops. The first person I found following one was a woman, and anyway she didn't follow for too long; she just - I'm not sure. It wasn't stealing, anyway. So I had to go follow a different patrol, and,» he shrugged, «there you were.»

«There I was,» echoed Ezio, and gave Desmond a look. Desmond understood: with skills like that, he'd make a good assassin.

«I absolutely forbid it,» said the man that Desmond recognized as Claudio's father.

«Pa - »

«No, Claudio! We are not having this argument again!»

«Why not?» asked Ubaldi. «It seems to me that it is his future to choose, not yours.»

«Do not _encourage_ him!»

«Answer the question,» said Ubaldi, crossing his arms.

Ubaldi was not a small man, and in recent months he'd gained a lot of muscle. In addition, he was armed as befitted an assassin. Claudio's father looked for a moment like he'd object, then clearly thought better of it.

«It is one thing if he wanted to join a company of condottieri, fight in the open. It is another to slink in the darkness and murder men for politics.»

«Is it?» asked Donati.

« . . . what do you mean?»

«Condottieri under contract, whether they fight or not, are just as much murderers for politics. You think there would be such endless warring, if someone were not playing that game? No. But on battlefields, hundreds of men die at once. At least with us, the death of one man in the dark may prevent all those hundreds of deaths in the light.»

«Is that how you justify it, then?»

«I do not justify anything. I am a murderer; I am a sinner; when I die my actions will be judged accordingly. But 'do not steal,' is also one of the ten commandments. At least I do not lie to myself that my crimes are lesser, or more honorable.»

Claudio's father looked nonplussed at best. «And you, Master Assassin?»

«We fight for the right of people to make their own choices,» said Ezio.

«Their own mistakes.»

«Possibly,» allowed Ezio. «But no one can know that ahead of time.» He glanced at Desmond, who tried very hard not to feel called-out and failed miserably.

« . . . fine. Your mother is going to kill me, but - do as you wish, Claudio. You always do.»

«Yes!» Claudio punched the air again in victory.

«But you get to tell you mother.»

Claudio looked very much less enthused.

«I will help,» said Donati, stepping forward. «Claudio, right?»

"Si," said Claudio. "Claudio Santi."

«Well, take us to meet this formidable mother of yours; I will see if I can't calm her fears, mm?»

«Yes,» said Claudio, eyes wide.

«You know,» said Desmond later, «that kid has a serious case of hero worship. You're going to have to be extra hard on him, to make sure it doesn't affect his work.»

«Or otherwise he will die early?»

«I have no idea,» admitted Desmond. «I don't remember him at all. I remembered Donati and Ubaldi, but - I think Claudio might be new.» He thought Claudio might not have survived the infection in his cut, he meant.

Ezio looked disgruntled.

«But we can't know our mistakes ahead of time,» added Desmond beatifically.

«Ass,» said Ezio fondly.

Whatever Donati said, it resulted in Signora Santi coming to the warehouse and examining it from the dovecote on top to the sewers beneath. Finally she declared it, «Fine as a lord's palazzo!» which was apparently very high praise from her.

«See, Ma?» said Claudia. «It will be _fine_.»

Signora Santi ignored her son and looked straight to Ezio. «And I am told I have you to thank for saving my son's life, as well. I asked them to pass on my regards, but I was never quite sure you got them. So. Thank you.»

«It was,» said Ezio, and stopped. A wound like that, Desmond knew, would have gotten infected. Should have gotten infected. That would've meant the arm, and possibly Claudio's life. «I was glad to do it.»

«You will teach my boy reading,» she said.

«Yes. Along with writing and math and swordplay and tactics and strategy,» said Ezio.

«And how to murder,» said Signora Santi.

«That is what swordplay is, signora,» said Ezio. «Mostly what we assassins teach is _how to think_. If Claudio determines that a death is necessary, and only then, he will kill. If he does not, then he _must_ not. We assassins are named for the last and greatest weapon we use, but we prefer to use speech and spies and stealth instead. And - the choice must always be his. If he wishes to walk away, in a month or a year, then we will be sorry to lose such a fine brother.»

«He is to be home Sunday mornings for mass,» said Signora Santi.

«Of course,» said Ezio.

«And I will want to know how he progresses in his studies.»

«That can be arranged.»

Signora Santi sighed. «Then I suppose I must turn my boy over to you, Master Assassin.»

«We will watch over him well, for he is one of our own,» said Ezio. «Do not fear, Signora. All children must grow up eventually.»

«I know, I know, I just - hadn't thought it would be this soon.»

«No? He is fourteen. Most apprentices become journeymen at that age.»

Santi said, «That's true.» She sighed. «All right, I'm going.» And she did.

«So?» said Claudio. «When do I get to start learning how to fight like you?»

«Hero worship,» said Desmond.

«When you have the muscles for it,» said Ezio. «For now, you will haul water.»

Claudio complained about this until Ezio climbed the _outside_ of the warehouse. When the teen protested that he could do that, Ezio went into his room and stripped down to just a linen doublet and breeches. Hepiled his armor into Claudio's arms, and told him to take it to the armory downstairs, sand and polish and oil it, and bring it back up. Claudio staggered off under the weight. He didn't do a very good job, but he stopped complaining about hauling water, so mission accomplished.

There were benefits to having him around, though. He could run and jump and tumble in ways that their other novices, Vecellio, and even Ezio didn't know, and was more than willing to show them. Therefore, in the part of his days when he wasn't being taught how to read and write and do math, he was teaching the other assassins or learning hiding in plain sight from whores and courtesans. Varzi took over being his mother away from home, while Donati settled in to being his cool big sis, the one he went to with all his problems. More often than not, and it seemed to help her figure out who she wanted to be also.

By the middle of May he was doing well enough to start on weapons training. Ubaldi, coached along by Vecellio, had become a beast with a sword. Donati and Varzi were never going to have as long a reach as a man. Donati she made up for it by being faster, helped along by Desmond patiently talking Ezio through some judo that she could use. Varzi had decided to get around it with poison instead. None of them let Claudio make any mistakes, so his footwork was probably going to end up being better even than Ezio's.

When he was ready, all of them went to go take a look around one of the hideouts of the followers of Romulus. This one was better hidden, because apparently someone on the other side had realized that the first two, hidden in old ruins or not, were not actually very secret. It didn't matter, because even if Ezio didn't know where they were Desmond did. Varzi hid in the shadows except for when she didn't. Claudio climbed up the walls like a monkey, finding hidden stashes of coin and messages with equal ease. They thumped a few heads and then had to carry the sixteen young men up out of the dark and - after Donati talking to the locals for a few minutes - home to their _mothers_. So those idiots weren't going to be bothering anyone else, because they were going to be grounded forever.

Then news came to them that the king of France had sent Cesare Borgia an army, and it was on the way to conquer Naples by way of Rome. Machiavelli immediately called a meeting.

«We should take the fight to them!» said Bartolomeo.

«We do not have the men to stop an army,» said la Volpe. «And anyway, I do not see the point. They are not here to support Cesare in Rome.»

«So we should just let them go?» asked Ezio.

«Did I say that? No. They are soldiers. They will want three things: wine, women, and warfare. Conveniently, the Fox has wine; the Rose has women, and Bartolomeo's men can provide a fight. I say we let them through Rome mostly unharassed . . . and rob them blind.»

«Hah!» said Bartolomeo. «I love it! You are a canny one, you old fox!»

«Machiavelli?» asked Ezio.

«It is a good plan, but . . . »

«But?»

«I have not been idle; one of my contacts believes he has found a way to sneak you into the Castello Sant'Angelo. Where I trust you will have no trouble finishing what you started, two years ago.»

«Much longer than that,» said Ezio.

«Why not both?» asked Desmond. «Both is good.»

«Why _not_ do both?» repeated Claudia thoughtfully. «Whether or not my dearest brother is successful, the army is coming. We might as well take all of the money the Borgia paid them. And if he _is_ successful, having an angry foreign army here to help, ah, confuse things, cannot hurt.»

«Ezio,» said Bartolomeo. «Why have you not introduced my Pantasilea to your sister? They would get along famously!»

«That is what I'm worried about,» muttered Ezio to himself.

«So, we are agreed? Rob the French, while Ezio goes into the Castello and does what he should have two years ago?»

«Machiavelli . . . » Ezio sighed. «Yes.»

«Good,» said Machiavelli.

Later, Ezio said, "Miles?"

"Si?"

«Do you think I should have killed Rodrigo, that first time?»

« . . . I think he's a terrible person,» said Desmond, «and a terrible pope. Killing him would probably have prevented Cesare from sacking Monteriggioni, but . . . it wouldn't undo all the things he did, evil or good. In retrospect, I think the thing to do would have been to take him into the vault with you.»

«Really? Why?»

«So he could see how pointless being a prophet actually is. He thought it meant being given some holy message directly by God, to spread to the people like the prophets of the Bible. What it actually meant was someone long dead trying to get a warning to someone who was centuries away from being born in time to stop the sun from killing the earth again. If he'd been there - if he'd heard her, if he'd come out of it as confused as you did . . . »

«Did he get the warning?» asked Ezio. «Desmond?»

« . . . he did in my past. I'm not sure he will in your future, if we keep changing things.»

«Oh.»

«But, yeah, that's what I think Rodrigo Borgia needed: to learn that there is a difference between being the messenger and the message; and to learn enough of the Isu to learn that he didn't really want to be either.»

«Is this a lesson you think he could still learn?»

«It's moot now. Rodrigo Borgia knows he is not the prophet. He is jealous and he hates you and is afraid of you. But he is not stupid enough to have ordered the attack on Monteriggioni; that was Cesare and Cesare alone.»

«Good to know,» said Ezio, at last.

"Mi dispiace," said Desmond. «In real life, there are no easy answers.»

«No. Still. I should focus on Cesare. Thank you, Miles.»

«Uh. You're welcome?»

It was the end of June before Ezio got into the Castello, though. Someone on the enemy side, possibly a number of someones, were incredibly paranoid. Anyone joining the papal guard had to be vouched for by at least two separate guardsmen; any businessperson being allowed into the Castello had to be announced ahead of time, so someone could check that they were who they said they were.

«Background checks,» said Desmond. «And Rome is all little neighborhoods where everyone knows everyone. You can't fake it.»

«Could you?» asked Ezio.

«No; some friends of mine could, though. They could fake _anything_.»

So instead of going in as a guard _or_ a delivery man, Ezio was going in as a prisoner. He rated imprisonment in the Castello because, apparently, he was one of the condottieri who'd had some reservations about Cesare in public. The fact that everyone was happy to buy this explanation said terrible things about Cesare, but was good news for Ezio. About five minutes after he was escorted to the plain but clean dungeon, he'd picked the lock and was free to wander around.

"Ezio?" asked someone behind him.

«Caterina?» he asked. They'd known she was in the Castello; but she was supposed to be treated as an honored guest, not behind bars in the dungeon.

«What are you doing here?» asked Caterina urgently.

«Finishing unfinished business,» said Ezio, darkly. «What are _you_ doing here?»

«Being imprisoned,» she said. «Obviously.»

«In the dungeon?»

«Lucrezia does not like me.»

«Caterina.»

«And they do not keep treating you as a guest once you try to escape,» said Caterina. «But - now I think it is for the best. No one will be able to blame me for _poisoned letters_ when the Borgia turn up dead with stabs through the skull. No, don't tell me anything. It is safer.»

Ezio couldn't argue with her logic. He turned to leave.

A frustrating hour and a half later, Ezio was "guarding," and listening in on, the meeting of Cesare with his allies. He learned that Rodrigo wasn't even in the Castello before they got started, and then got a lot of useful information on troop movements and Cesare's plans on campaign. He also, presumably, learned that Cesare was really completely bonkers, because, _wow_. That man was impressively insane, even by Desmond's standards. Immediately after, he rode off to go see to his new French army.

The trip would have been a complete loss except that with both Rodrigo and Cesare gone, the Castello was also absent most of its defenders. Ezio decided to rescue Caterina. It went a lot more smoothly without actually having to get anywhere near Lucrezia because, thanks to Claudio, Ezio could _pick locks_. They were out - in the stinking, garbage-clogged water of the Tiber - less than an hour after that.

Then it turned out that Caterina didn't know how to swim. Desmond had to explain how to swim while carrying someone else right there, hiding under the pilings in the gross water. They decided to dump Caterina's gown entirely, since it was ruined and it would only get in the way. Then Ezio swam out to where the current could push them along toward Tiber Island, and spent most of his effort keeping the both of them afloat.

They got back to Tiber island late, freezing cold and covered in the unspeakable effluence of the river.

«Sluice her down first,» said Desmond. «With well water. I know it's also cold, but we have to get the worst off now. Then she'll need a hot bath to get her warmed up again. You both will. And you're both going to get colds anyway, so start with a tisane and get Ubaldi to make soup.»

«Ezio,» said Caterina. «That ghost is still bothering you?»

«I would not call it bothering. He is the one who knew how to carry-swim, for example.»

« . . . I see. And now?»

«I have been told we have to both get as much off as we can before going inside, and then we are going to scrub ourselves clean with soap and hot water. And _then_ we're going to drink a lot of hot water too, in tisanes and soup.»

Caterina frowned, nonplussed. «All good advice, but . . . »

«He has saved life, mine and others, several times now. I trust him.»

"Mi dispiace, Signora Sforza," said Desmond. «I didn't know Italian when I first arrived here. I didn't mean to scare you.»

At that, Caterina finally snorted, more like her old self. «Oh, well,» said Caterina. «If he didn't _mean_ to.»

Once they gotten the water to run clear, they went out to the main room where Donati and Ubaldi were waiting up for him. «Hot water,» said Ezio, grimly. «Lots of it. And soup, if you can manage this late at night.»

«But - who is this?» asked Donati, taking in the mess of Caterina, standing these shivering in her filthy underclothes.

«Caterina Sforza,» said Ezio.

About a month after Ubaldi had moved in permanently, he'd suggested building an oven. Desmond, who knew useful camping skills like how to build a rocket fire and how radiative heat worked, took one look at the plans and said, «No,» and then talked Ezio through drafting a rocket oven. Ubaldi had looked at the sketches for a long, long time before he said, «Master, _why_ are you not filthy rich?»

«Who says I'm not?» asked Ezio.

They'd had to pretty much entirely rebuild the entire hearth, but now it had a rocket oven on one side and a rocket cooktop on the other, a convenient niche a bit up the shared chimney so they could always be passively be boiling some water, and a couple of bins for wood storage under the whole thing. Ubaldi, who'd cooked on a hearth fire his whole life, had enthusiastically adopted the little sliding doors, which allowed him to precisely control the air flow and thus temperature of the fire. Now he put the big cauldron pot on the main grille, opened the door wide, and began feeding it faggots. Vecellio went to begin hauling water.

A good thing about having the chimney pot was that the water inside was always a little warm so they could begin washing immediately, even before the big cauldron got hot. Caterina looked around with interest, while Ubaldi studiously looked anywhere but at her naked body. Ezio, who'd seen in before, just ignored it. Varzi perched on the table and watched them.

«Caterina,» she said. «Sforza.»

«A friend,» said Ezio. «Caterina, this is my apprentice.» He looked at her, a clear indication that what she did now was up to her.

«Tessa Varzi,» said Varzi. «I didn't know Master had such friends in high places.»

«And - that man?»

«Also my apprentice.»

«And our helpful water-carrier?»

«Still an apprentice.»

«I see.»

«Are you dressed yet?» asked Ubaldi, his back to her. He'd moved on to chopping vegetables.

« . . . no,» said Caterina, and turned back to soaping up, taking her cues from the way Ezio was vigorously scrubbing each centimeter thoroughly for several seconds before moving on. By the time they were done actually washing, the chimney pot was going to need a thorough scrubbing with salt and one with soap before they could boil it sterile again, but Ezio and Caternia were acceptably clean. They used water from the cauldron, which was steaming but not actually boiling, to wipe the soap off. Varzi had sensibly brought towels and put them in the oven, which was not in use but never got entirely cold, so they were wonderfully warm for drying off.

Then Caterina put on one of Varzi's shifts. It was a bad fit; Donati and Varzi were small women, and Caterina an extraordinarily tall one, so it fell only to her knees. However, it covered the necessary parts, so Ubaldi finally relaxed. Shortly thereafter, he handed her a mug of hot milk, sweetened with a little honey. Caterina finally stopped shivering.

«I will go buy you a proper gown tomorrow,» said Ezio. «I will sleep here by the hearth tonight so you may sleep in my bed - »

«You can join us,» said Varzi suddenly. «My sister and I. If you don't mind having commoners as your bedfellows, I mean.»

«I do not mind at all,» said Caterina.

She was yawning hugely by the time the soup was ready, but she still had two bowls of it before she stood up. Varzi took her arm to gently lead her off to her room.

«Ezio . . . » said Desmond, as Ezio piled blankets on his bed.

«I don't want to talk about it,» said Ezio.

«Okay,» said Desmond. «Shutting up now.»

Somewhat later, Ezio sighed and asked, «Did you know?»

«What?»

«That Caterina did not . . . »

«Ezio,» said Desmond, who'd figured out the thing going on between Caterina and Claudia and Maria during the very awkward dog-paddle home. «Everyone knew. Everyone but you.»

«Oh.»

« . . . at the risk of telling you too much of your own future: you will find love. Or you did, anyway, in the past I know.»

«I still hurts now, though,» said Ezio.

«Yeah, well. Give it a little time. Grief is complicated.»

«Can you mourn for something you never actually had?»

«Ezio.»

Ezio sighed again. «Yes, you're right. Miles. Will you guard my sleep?»

«Of course,» said Desmond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Climbing around everything while wearing full chain mail. Ezio must have muscles like _rocks_.
> 
> Site-reading is actually extremely difficult for people who don't start learning to read until after they're six. Everyone else sounded the words out loud. Ezio had to specially train everyone to instead sound them out in their head, starting with himself.
> 
> Most food at the time was baked or boiled, because it's hard to mess up boiling. Ovens of the time, and indeed up through the American Revolution, worked as follows: 1. Put a bunch of fuel inside the oven and set it on fire and wait for it to burn down. The over, being made of brick or clay, absorbs all this heat like a pizza stone and becomes a big heat-mass. 2. Working quickly, open the oven door, rake out all the hot coals (onto the baker's feet!), and shove the bread in. 3. Close the door and seal it up with a paste made of flour and water. Wait while the heat from the oven bricks/clay bakes the bread. Obviously this method of baking means there's always ash on the bottom of the bread, and all the stuff that needs to be baked has to be lined up ahead of time; however, as long as everything is lined up hottest baking --> coolest baking, two or even three batches can be baked from each burn. [Rocket ovens](http://www.woodfiredpizza.org/rocket-oven-construction.html), on the other hand, allow the oven to be heated while food is baking, and the heat can easily be controlled based on how much fuel and oxygen the fire is allowed to have. A rocket stove works on a similar concept, and then cooking methods such as searing and sauteing and deglazing become available, which vastly improves the food. Aren't you happy we live in the future, where gas cooktops and electric ovens are a thing?
> 
> Immunology continues to be very complex. Fortunately, I am going to relax with some cousins in LA over the weekend.


	6. Family

Machiavelli called a meeting for that evening, but by then, it was abundantly clear that Desmond's prediction was correct and both Ezio and Caterina had managed to contract colds. Bad ones. They were cocooned in blankets, sitting in their chairs while Claudia made them endless cups of verbena tisane.

«You didn't kill Rodrigo?» demanded Machiavelli.

«How could he?» asked Caterina. «Rodrigo wasn't even there.»

«How odd. Rodrigo is usually at the Castello. And Cesare was . . . ?»

«Surrounded by partisans and guards, before he rode off,» said Ezio. «Even I cannot fight a dozen warriors alone.»

« . . . no,» allowed Machiavelli, and made an irritated noise deep in his throat. «What a waste - no offense meant,» he added, to Caterina.

«None taken,» she said.

«Not entirely,» said Ezio, and related what he'd learned of the situation amongst the Borgia, including the new tension between Cesare and Rodrigo. And the fact that Cesare was clearly insane. «With Cesare gone to Urbino, we will build our forces.»

«We had intended to strike now,» said Machiavelli.

«Impossible,» said Caterina. «Cesare commands a massive army in Romagna. You would never reach him.»

«We can work here, in Rome. Erode the Borgia's influence. The ruse with - Ortensia?» Claudia nodded. « - worked beautifully. We can do similar, set more of Cesare's forces against one another. Three of my apprentices are almost ready to begin taking missions alone, which means we will be able to begin investing outside of Tiber Island, and protecting our investments. I intend to continue recruiting.»

«First,» said la Volpe, «recover from that cold. You sound awful.»

"Si," said Ezio.

But he didn't get better. Caterina did, but his cold moved down into his chest, becoming the kind of miserable cough that rattled his bones. Claudia and Vecellio between them bullied him into bed, but an Ezio who was not in motion was a bored Ezio. He kept trying to get up, and Desmond couldn't stop him. The best he could do was go find Donati, who quickly became friendly with him when she realized he was on her side. 

But then came the day when Ezio turned his head and there, just at the hollow of his throat Desmond could see - 

"Oh shit," said Desmond. What Ezio had was not a cold, or the flu. He had, after swimming in the open cesspit Rome called a river, contracted the plague.

Varzi, at least, was sensible. She went to go get Claudia, who found out what the problem was and more or less _collapsed_ onto one of the kitchen chairs, her face in her hands.

«Miles,» said Donati, urgently. «Miles, _what do we do_?»

«Keep him hydrated,» said Desmond. «That's the most important thing. Keep getting liquids into him.»

«Why?» asked Claudia. «He's just going to - »

«Who are you talking to?» asked Varzi.

«Not now, Varzi,» said Claudia.

«Yes,» said Desmond. «I know. But right now that fluid is coming out of his blood, and, well, you've made blood sausages. You know what happens when you take all the liquid out of blood, in a body with as high a fever as he's got. Right now that's happening _in his veins_. We need to keep replacing the water, so it doesn't.»

«Right,» said Claudia grimly. «Right. What else?»

Desmond stopped for a minute, and thought about it like a bartender. If water wasn't the prime difficulty anymore, than food was. He wasn't going to be able to keep that down any better than water, though. And shit, he was going to be losing electrolytes too, wasn't he? «We need to get food into him, in liquid form. And salt. I know it sounds weird, but a lot of the salt in his blood is going with that water, when he vomits it up or when he sweats. I think we need to add salt and as much sugar as will go in, to the heaviest beer we can find, and get him to drink that. An eighth of a pint every quarter hour, that's the fastest human intestines can absorb liquid.»

With water and calories and electrolytes out of the way, the next thing was going to be his fever. «We need to - not break the fever, but at least cool him down enough that he won't cook his brains. I think a bath, cool but _not_ cold. That'll help with water retention too. After that . . . there's nothing more we can do.»

Ezio also objected to being told to drink hot salty beer, and after the second time it came back up just refused to. «Milk, then,» said Desmond. «But it has to have the salt and the sugar, Ezio, this is not up for debate.» The milk also came back up, but less of it, and his color began to rapidly improve.

That done, Vecellio and Ubaldi got to work on a full-submersion bath that was cool but not cold. This involved first buying half an oak barrel to use as the tub, and then wrestling it up two flights of stairs so they could begin heating water to fill it. Even with all the windows open, the kitchen was absolutely stifling by the time they got enough for Ezio to sit down in it. But he stopped shivering almost as soon as they had.

It became apparent after a few days that they'd only managed to halt the disease progress, though. Ezio wasn't getting any worse, but he also wasn't getting any better. La Volpe stopped by with an absolutely enormous pie courtesy of Signora Santi. Ezio couldn't eat it, but Varzi and Donati and Ubaldi took it gratefully. Ezio, who by this time sick of salty milk and sugary tea, sighed.

«Can't you do anything more to help?» asked Claudia, on one of her frequent visits, «Make some of those pills? Aspirin?»

«One, aspirin is basically willow bark,» said Desmond. «Purified and more potent, but still. He's been mainlining the willow bark since he got out of the river. Two, I thought we agreed not to use the Apple alone?»

«Miles, _please_ ,» said Claudia. «My brother is dying.»

Desmond looked at her round, pale face, and then to Ezio. He was sick, but they'd _stabilized_ him. Ezio shook his head and said, «She's right. I'm better than I was, but I understand what you meant about little fighters now, too. I can _feel_ myself fighting, but I can't keep fighting like this forever. Not on milk and tea.»

«I'm not even sure I _can_ help,» said Desmond, then steeled himself. «But. Plague is bacterial. Penicillin will work, if we can get some penicillin.»

«Pen-iss-ill-in?» said Ezio, repeating the strange word.

Desmond thought about how to explain it. «Some kinds of infection have invented poisons to kill other kinds of infection. It's easier for them to grow if they can kill anything that would compete for food, right? Penicillin is a poison made by a kind of mold, and it's _really good_ at killing the kind of infection that causes plague. But I don't know how to get the penicillin out of the mold, and that's assuming we can even find the right mold.»

Claudia frowned. «What kind of mold?»

«The stuff that makes blue cheeses blue,» said Desmond. He was pretty sure about that, anyway. «Brie and camembert and roquefort and gorgonzola.»

«We can get gorgonzola,» said Claudia.

«But just eating it won't help,» said Ezio. «Will it? It's like salt and alcohol; they have to touch the infection directly.»

«Yes,» said Desmond frowning. «And no. Penicillin is usual taken orally, so it has to be able to be absorbed by eating it. But we'd need a lot. Like, he'd have to beating his own body weight in cheese every day to get enough penicillin through to his intestines.»

«Hmm,» said Claudia. «Let us ask Caterina.»

«Caterina?» asked Desmond. Claudia hadn't _missed_ Caterina finally breaking Ezio's heart, which meant she was swallowing a lot of her pride for no reason Desmond could see.

«She has studied alchemy,» said Claudia.

«Oh, great,» said Desmond. «Terrible fake chemistry.»

Caterina did, however, know an astonishing number of ways to prepare different plant and mineral extracts. They got some cheese, and some alchemical tools - by which they meant flasks and beakers - and she got to work. Ezio kept fighting, but now even Desmond could see that he wasn't winning. Caterina barely slept or ate. It got the point that Desmond had to get Ezio or Claudia to remind her from him.

By the beginning of August, they had a liquid which they thought would work, based on the fact that adding cheese mold to rotting chicken broth resulted in the rot just sort of . . . stopping. After filtering out both the slimy strands of rot and the mold, they gave it Ezio's to drink. Predictably, it came right back up; but he gagged down another half-cup of the stuff, and they settled in to wait.

They weren't sure that evening, but by the next morning it was clear it was helping. Ezio's fever had finally gone down and stopped trying to rise again, and he was able to keep things, including more mold juice, down. A further four days and his appetite returned, just at about the time the swelling in his lymph nodes began to go down. Another week saw him up again and training with his apprentices to put back on the muscle he'd lost while lying around in bed sick.

«How did that even _work_?» asked Caterina. «Keeping you cool and feeding you salty sugary milk? Wars amongst infections?»

«Miles knows many things,» said Ezio.

«It's not different from you using Ezio against the Borgia,» said Desmond. Ezio sighed and repeated it.

Caterina, who had not previously believed in Miles, winced a little; but she didn't deny the accusation. «I am glad it worked. Ezio . . . »

"Si?"

«Now that you have recovered, I am going to Florence.»

«Florence? Caterina - »

« _No_ , Ezio. The Borgia have Imola and Forlì. I can stay no longer, or I risk recapture.» She wouldn't even have stayed this long, if not for his illness. "Mi dispiace."

Ezio wanted to be despondent the next day, but Desmond said, «Get your head out of your ass. It isn't _about_ you, Ezio. She hasn't seen her children in almost two years!»

Ezio stilled. Even he didn't have the gall to pretend that the children of her body didn't trump whatever affection she had for him. «I understand. In that case - »

«Write her a letter.»

«A letter? She made it clear: we have nothing to say.»

«You are still friends,» said Desmond. «Or at least, you can be, if you put on your big-boy pants and act like you still want to be.»

So he did, and Caterina sent a letter back. She complained that her brother-in-law refused to surrender custody of her son, and how she was having to sue both for that and the monies due to her as regent of her late husband's properties. Miles made some comment about how she was approaching it the wrong way, and she really needed to convince the people and the judge to be sympathetic to her as a mother who was being denied her child _and_ the means to support and educate him properly. Ezio, probably because he found it funny, copied this down. Caterina's response was scathing, but also . . . thoughtful. They began a regular correspondence. 

«What would I do without you, my friend?» asked Ezio.

«Be much more alone,» said Desmond.

During his long illness, the apprentices had been left to tackle the Borgia guards on Tiber Island alone. Vecellio had stepped up to the challenge, and led Varzi and Donati and Ubaldi in successfully keeping the peace. They had also come up with . . .

«Vecellio,» said Ezio, looking at the man. To normal eyes, he was just huge and black - Moorish, they would have said. To Ezio's, he was a steady cool green like hidden forest pools. «Who is this?»

«Forgive us, Master,» said Donati, taking a half-step in front of the man. «I am the one who decided to recruit him. This is Cipriano Enu.»

«And are you?» asked Ezio. «From Cypress, I mean.»

«No,» said Enu. «My family was, long ago; but we have been in Iberia now for centuries.»

«Oh? And what brings you to Rome?»

«I am told you call him the Spaniard here,» spat Enu. «As though there were not hundreds of us, perfectly innocent of his crimes! I am told,» added Enu, «that you fight him.»

«I believe we have much to talk about,» said Ezio.

So that was their sixth recruit. Enu, despite his dark skin, was a Catholic through and through. His family was one of many Rodrigo Borgia had quashed on his quest to become the pope; unlike Ezio, Enu's family had mostly been left alive. On the distaff side, anyway. Enu didn't personally remember any of this, having been only three months in the womb at the time.

Ezio told him about the Brotherhood, about their beliefs and their goals and their methods, before he gently reminded Enu that he could always turn back.

«Not a chance,» said Enu. He already knew swordfighting; his family had been active knights during the Reconquista, and his mother had seen to it that he was educated nobly as well. He knew horsemanship and archery, court manners and reading and writing. But he also knew the deprivations of a fatherless childhood, and had no problem sneaking and thieving and pulling on other identities when necessary. The only things the Brotherhood really needed to teach him were running and climbing and the hidden blade. Enu took to it with almost alarming alacrity.

At about that time, rumors of a demon doctor had spread in the city. He was all charms and helpfulness until he got a woman by herself; and then all they ever found was bodies. He was dressed in the dark leathers and beaked mask of a doctor, and no one knew what he looked like behind the mask. The whores were afraid to go out alone, which was seriously impacting their revenue. Maria asked Ezio to look into it.

He did, of course, but by the time Ezio was well enough to track the man to a more ruined-and-abandoned part of the city, he'd already managed to get close to his next victim. Too close, with a knife. He stabbed at her unprotected belly -

«No!»

\- and there was the noise of steel glancing off steel, followed by the soft noise of steel cutting through leather and flesh. The woman dodged the arterial spray without apparent thought or effort, and lowered the demon doctor to the ground. "Requiescat in pace," she said, removing his mask and closing his eyes. Then she looked up. «Oh. It's you, Master,» said Donati. «Let me go alert the authorities to,» she toed the body, « _this_ , and then we can go talk.»

There wasn't much to talk about. Donati had proven that she was not just an assassin apprentice, at this point, but ready to become an assassin journeyman. Ezio told her so, and then asked if she wanted to stay in Rome, or work further afield? Someone was going to have to go do something about Agostino Barbarigo over in Venice, for example.

Donati shook her head. «Ugo is the one who wants to see the world. I just want to protect my people. When will he be given his chance?»

«When he proves himself,» said Ezio.

Three days later, someone had tracked down the man who was kidnapping all those poor children and sent him to Hell. There was no evidence to link the kidnappings to Cesare, of course; but the money made from selling Christian children to Muslim Turks said enough.

«Let me go to Costantinopoli,» begged Ubaldi. «The piece of shit talked before he died; I think I will be able to rescue the children. At least some of them.»

«I need to write a letter. There are assassins in the city who can help you.»

Their headquarters were much quieter with him gone, but the food quality took a major dive. This lasted until Claudia showed up near the end of September with one of her whores in tow. Ezio was waiting for a note from Antonio over in Venice about the Barbarigo assassination, which Vecellio and Varzi and Enu had taken on as their journeyman project.

«Uh,» said Ezio. Desmond looked at the woman, and recognized her immediately as Ortensia-not-Orsini, who'd played the French and Papal guards against each other. Since then, the two forces had been in what Desmond would have called a slowly-escalating prank war, except pranks didn't leave people with broken bones. «Sister?»

«This is Ortensia. She is bored with me, and her talents are wasted as a courtesan. Train her.»

«What?» asked Ezio, but not because he hadn't heard. Ortensia was giving him an intense predatory look, and Ezio was undoubtedly trying very hard not to think about that time he'd slept with her.

«Take a look,» said Claudia, and the way she said look made him, well, look. Ortensia was vivid new-spring-grass green. «So. You should train her.»

«You should,» added Desmond. «I remember her.»

"Si," said Ezio, who knew when he was beaten. «Let us get her settled, then. Donati, do you mind sharing your room? We'll have to work something out before Varzi gets back, but . . . »

"Si," said Donati. «We cannot place our new sister in with _Claudio_.»

«What's wrong with Claudio?» asked Ortensia.

«He is fourteen,» said Donati dryly.

«Ah.»

Ortensia, family name Orlandi, came in with all the skills of highly-trained courtesan, so she could already read and write and, in fact, debate Sappho's poems in Latin. She was also fairly ridiculous with a knife; when asked, she shrugged and said, «Madonna thinks we should be able to defend ourselves,» which, yeah, Claudia to the core. Thankfully, she knew how to cook, so she took over those duties in return for never, ever having to clean, or boil the water. After some initial mishaps with the rocket burners, she began producing reasonably tasty food. Running and jumping and climbing were entirely new to her, though, so she ended up partnered with Claudio a lot: between them there was one full assassin.

Claudio had a fairly obvious crush on her from day one. Orlandi didn't appear to mind, and in fact offered to teach him some things - for the right price. Claudio pinked to his ears. It never really progressed beyond the point of puppyish looks and gentle teasing, which, _thank God_. But even the teasing had a point, because by the time Christmas was coming again, Claudio had gotten over his hesitation in sparring with Orlandi and more broadly women.

Then it was Christmas, and Orlandi pushed up her sleeves and Ezio got out the Nativity. It was the Auditores, Donati, Varzi, Vecellio, Enu, and Orlandi this year. Ubaldi was still in Constantinople, and Claudio would have been disowned if he didn't come home for Christmas. Orlandi wasn't quite a good enough cook to make the fancy pastries, but between the three of them and a real oven, they managed a respectable Feast of Seven fishes.

About halfway through, Orlandi said, almost casually, «I'm surprised Miles didn't come. When will I get to meet him?»

Donati, Claudia, and Ezio looked at each other.

«What? You didn't think you were keeping him a secret, did you?» Their faces said they had, but Orlandi continued, «You talk about him, constantly. There's that eye gesture - that one! - that you use for him. Who is he? Why isn't he here?»

«Ortensia,» said Claudia, carefully. «Miles is dead.»

Orlandi's jaw dropped in a little 'oh' of surprise, and then she narrowed her eyes. «You talk about him like he is . . . alive, if not here.»

«No,» said Donati, voice low and level. «You have it exactly backwards. He is _not_ alive, and he _is_ here.» When Maria opened her mouth, Donati said, «I will not lie to our sister. To our brothers. They have a right to know about our master's ghost.»

«I am still my _own_ ghost,» said Desmond, to no one in particular, which made both Auditores smile.

«What?» asked Orlandi, confused.

«What ghost?» asked Enu.

«He wishes me to remind you that he is not and has never been _my_ ghost,» said Ezio. «If anything, I am _his_ person. Or at least, he has taken on the duty of seeing to my continued survival, even if he has to invent impossible medicines to do it.»

«What?» asked Orlandi again.

«You know Ezio had plague over the summer,» said Maria. «Miles is the reason he survived.» Over dinner she told the whole story, starting with the swim in the Tiber, Ezio getting sick, Desmond's treatment of first beer and then milk, mildly salted and sugared to the utmost, in addition to the usual willow bark tea. His cold baths, when medical knowledge would have been to keep him as hot as he wanted. In the end, his mold juice, which had over the course of a few days turned Ezio from half-dead to half-alive.

Vecellio put his knife down on his plate with a dull _thonk_. «This is too far to go for a joke, but . . . »

«I can't always see him,» said Donati. «And I can't hear him at all; but he's a _good_ ghost. He was the one who knew how to build our kitchen properly. He comes to mass with us. He _died_ saving people's lives, and he keeps doing it even now.»

«And he doesn't - I mean,» said Orlandi. «He could watch me, and I'd never know!»

«He actually hates the Rose,» said Ezio.

«He doesn't _hate_ it,» said Claudia. «He's just not interested. Probably it has something to do with not having a body. And you must admit, a brothel is quite boring if you can't talk to anyone _and_ you can't - »

«Yes, thank you,» said Desmond, pinching the bridge of his nose. «Look. I'm not going to invade your privacy like that, okay? Anyone's. It's _rude_.»

Orlandi blinked when Ezio repeated that.

«You don't seem very surprised,» observed Enu.

«I'm not,» said Varzi. «Claudia was talking to him, when he got sick. I didn't ask then, but later - Donati told me everything she knew.»

«And it doesn't bother you?» asked Vecellio.

«He can go inside hallowed land,» said Varzi, flatly. «His advice to my dearest sister in her hour of confusion was to go _read the Bible_. Whatever he is, he's no demon.»

« . . . Huh,» said Enu. «A good ghost. He's here? Right now?»

«Standing in the oven,» said Claudia.

«It's warm,» said Demond, almost defensively.

«What does he think?»

«Me?» asked Desmond. «I lived my life. I made my choices. I just want you to live and make yours.»

Ezio repeated this.

«Oh,» said Vecellio.

«Ubaldi and Claudio don't know,» said Donati. «I think we should tell them soon, though.»

Ezio sighed. «Very well.»

All through cleaning up Orlandi asked questions: where Desmond was from, how old was he, what did he look like, what his life had been like. Ezio answered the ones he could,and Desmond answered a few more. It wasn't like anyone here would know where South Dakota was. They learned that Donati saw him more as a white outline of a person, while Ezio could clearly describe his facial features, right down to the cut on his lip. «I've always wondered about that, actually.»

«My father,» said Desmond. «Training, when I was fifteen. That was when I decided to run away.»

«Oh,» said Ezio, and gave an edited version that left out his father. «He doesn't like talking about his life. He did not have a good family situation, and he died before he hit twenty-five.»

«I can't blame him then, really,» said Orlandi. «Hey, could we play a game of chess?»

They could if Ezio moved the pieces, but Desmond was bad at chess. Orlandi won so easily it wasn't funny. «Now you should play someone who knows what they are doing,» Desmond said, «and let me soothe my wounded pride in peace.»

Orlandi laughed at this, but did turn to play against Enu instead.

After lunch at the Rose, Desmond said, «Claudia.»

Claudia sighed. "Si," she said. «Let's go sit in my office.»

Her office was as brightly-lit as it could be on a thin grey winter day, but it was at least warm. Claudia sat in one of the chairs.

«You used the Apple alone,» said Desmond.

«Yes,» said Claudia. «I wanted to know medicine. The Apple kept trying to distract me, and I didn't learn anything particularly useful.»

«But you might be compromised.»

Claudia rolled her eyes. «Certainly; and you're the Emperor of China.»

Ezio huffed out a breath, but said, «Prove it.»

Claudia sighed, unlocked a drawer of her desk, and pulled out the Apple. «Here. I finished getting rid of the orders, so now it's just doing the math and Desmond's life.»

«Desmond's _life_?» asked Ezio.

Claudia shot Desmond an annoyed look. «His memories, his mind, his personality - whatever you want to call it. It's keeping it.»

« . . . why?» asked Ezio.

«That is an excellent question,» said Claudia. «I think it is because Desmond is trying to assassinate someone, who he could not kill where he was. Here is a better place because there is no Grey Web. Don't ask me what a Grey Web is, every time I tried to learn that I was thrown out by the headache. Miles might have more luck, though, since he doesn't have a head.» And also, probably, because the answers were decisions Desmond must have made and now couldn't remember making.

«Fine, hand it over,» said Desmond, although he already knew exactly what the Web was.

The Apple was **awake**. It was running **Desmond** , which was a program that had been instantiated by a future version of itself through a Calculation. It was running **incarnation** , which was a program that had been uploaded by that same future Calculation. However, even when the uncertainties were all resolved, it would still need Triage to finish the program and generate the body. Did **Desmond** want to locate Triage?

No, thought Desmond. He wanted to examine **Desmond**.

A readme file popped up.

It was so unexpected, so shocking, that it nearly threw Desmond out of the Apple. But it really was just a readme, a letter he'd left for himself for the time when he would be too incomplete to remember. It explained: while in the Eye, Desmond had been for all practical purposes both omniscient and omnipotent, with the caveat that Juno was in there with him being the operating system. So, after building the ion shield, that Desmond had decided to do something about Juno. Exactly what wasn't in the readme, but there followed a list - dates and locations - that spanned both the globe and the next few decades. Obviously, godlike Desmond had a plan; ghost Desmond was going to have to go to that first time-and-place if he wanted to learn what it was.

Okay, thought Desmond, and wondered if Claudia were compromised.

The Apple, inasmuch as an Apple could be annoyed, was annoyed. There were no edges, nothing to catch and pull on. Claudia was one of the resistant hybrids, like Eve and Adam, who were running the rebellion. Claudia was Trouble.

Desmond smiled, and thought, **_sleep_**.

«Welcome back,» said Ezio.

«She's not compromised,» said Desmond. «She's not . . . compromis _able_. We don't have to worry leaving her with the Apple, unless she independently decides to take over Italy or something.»

«Too much work!» said Claudia. «One brothel and half the businesses on Tiber Island is enough for me.»

«And Desmond?»

«Uh,» said Desmond.

«Is the Apple doing anything to him?»

Demond hesitated for a moment. Claudia clearly thought he should tell Ezio, or rather, that he should have told Ezio months ago. And, well. Even if he couldn't remember making the choice, he had not chosen here and now because of the strategic value, the security of a time when the assassins were winning. «Like she said. It's keeping me here.»

Ezio could go still, perch somewhere halfway up a building for hours without a single twitching muscle to give him away. It was deeply unsettling to watch; even asleep, even in bed literally dying, Ezio was always in motion. But he went still now, as the words hit him. Just at the point when Desmond was beginning to worry he'd broken him, Ezio said, « _You_?»

«I know, I'm kind of a disappointing - »

«What was that Minerva I saw, in the Vault? How did the message get you? Why did I need to see it? Did you - no. You died _saving the world_. How are you here now? Why are you here now? Why - »

Desmond held up his hands like they could protect him against the frantic barrage of questions. «Whoa, whoa. _One at a time_!»

Ezio took a deep breath. «Why did you lie to me? Why did you tell me your name is Miles?»

«My name _is_ Miles,» said Desmond. «Like your name is Auditore. My personal name is Desmond.» Ezio narrowed his eyes dangerously, so Desmond hurriedly continued, «And because I didn't want to have to answer all those questions you just asked.» It sounded really selfish when put like that, so he added, «I needed time to grieve.»

«Grieve?» asked Ezio, pulled up short. «Grieve who?»

«My friends. My enemies. Lucy. Clay. My brothers and sisters. My _entire world_. Myself. I just . . . I needed time, okay?»

«Yes,» said Ezio. «But then after - »

«I was comfortable being Miles,» said Desmond. «If it helps any, Claudia thought I should have told you months ago.»

«It doesn't,» said Ezio, turning an accusatory glare on his sister.

«We fight so that people can make their own choices,» said Claudia simply. «Even if their choices are stupid. Especially if their choices are stupid. Desmond _chose_.»

Ezio blinked, mouthed the words 'Desmond chose,' and sighed. «Will you answer the rest of my questions now?»

«No,» said Desmond immediately. «There are still things a man should not know about his own future. Anyway, I'm not going answer all of them at once, Ezio, you are worse than Leonardo sometimes. I will answer one a day, and I've already answered more than that today. I'm . . . going to need some time now, too. I _liked_ being Miles.»

«You liked being a person you got to choose, you mean,» said Claudia. «Which is after all why we fight. If you like being Miles, keep being Miles. Just. You don't have to hide from us, brother, so please don't.»

«I'm not - »

«Oh, you absolutely are,» said Ezio. Desmond knew that if he'd had a body. Ezio would be giving him one hell of a noogie. "Miles Auditore da Roma."

 

«Why _are_ you stuck to me, though? Shouldn't you be stuck to the Apple?»

«You would think,» agreed Miles. «Claudia thinks it's because you're my closest living relative - »

«I'm what?»

« - but that doesn't really make any sense. For one, I'm pretty sure you're not. I think it's simpler: I didn't want to be stuck to the Apple, so I chose you instead.»

«No, seriously, I'm your what?»

Miles only smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fireworks Holiday! (If you live in America; if you do not live in America, happy Friday.)
> 
> All of the medicine in this chapter is true to the best of my knowledge, but please, if you need antibiotics, _go ask your doctor for antibiotics_. When we tell sick people to stay hydrated, that's the reason. In my infectious diseases class we learned that 90% of the people who die of bacterial infections like _E. coli_ and _V. cholera_ do so not because the bacteria kills them directly but because of dehydration/lack of electrolytes/lack of calories, which is indirect but caused by the bacteria making them spew liquid from every possible orifice so as to spread more bacteria. You can save most of them if you just keep giving them sugar water with extra electrolytes, although it's easier with an IV because then they don't have to keep choking the grossest liquid down.
> 
> The kind of molds that makes blue cheeses blue are in the genus _Penicillium_. Most members of this genus can produce some form of chemical that harms bacteria, but only _will_ make them when they are in direct competition with bacteria for food. This is because it's hard for them to make antibiotics, so why make them when it isn't necessary? Unfortunately, many of the natural antibiotics that they make are bad for humans too. Ezio gets a pass because he's got Isu heritage, but in general drinking rotting soup + mold juice is just a terrible idea. Do not do this.
> 
> I have continued to learn immunology. This week I learned that there are mice where we, human scientists, have replaced the mice genes for some parts of the immune system with the human genes for the same thing. Doing this is called 'making a chimaera' since, like the chimaera, it's made up of parts from different species. This does not affect the chimaera mices' ability to have functional immune systems, since our human genes do the same thing as the mouse genes did, but it does mean that they're now susceptible to HIV. Now we are working on curing human-mouse chimaera AIDS, so we can then cure AIDS in humans. See? Even when we make abominations of science, we're doing it to help people. And now you know.


	7. Sabotage

«I thought about it,» said Ezio. «For me to be a closer living relative to you than _Claudia_ , I'd have to be your direct ancestor, instead of just some kind of great-uncle.»

«I'm not hearing a question,» said Miles.

Ezio huffed a long-suffering sigh. «Why did you choose me?»

Miles had to think about how to put it, and idly tapped his thigh while he thought. «When we got to Rome, and I remembered where to find Machiavelli, we passed by a gallows.»

«Yes. Citizens of Rome, slaughtered for daring to protest Borgia greed - »

«And even though there was somewhere else to be, something else important to be doing, you cut those people down and went after the Butcher yourself. It took a lot of time, because afterwards you had to make it look like a revenge killing so Cesare wouldn't know you'd come to Rome.»

«Yes,» said Ezio, impatiently.

«Why did you do that?» asked Miles.

Ezio opened his mouth, then closed it again. They rode along in silence for a while, as he thought it over.

«That's why, anyway,» said Miles.

 

«What happened to the Isu?»

«They died,» said Miles. «Some of them died in the war, and most of them died during the first Flare, and after, too few of them had survived for them to avoid being horribly inbred in ten or twenty generations. You know what happens if you inbreed animals too closely?»

"Si."

«It happens in people too. And in Isu. It wasn't sustainable, so they didn't really try. Some chose a lonely life of hate, but most of them chose to love a human, give their children what gifts they could. They lived a long time, long enough to see the fifth and sixth generation, and then they died.»

« . . . so the ancients of the Bible? Methusaleh?»

«I'm not really one for theology,» said Miles.

 

«Who was Lucy?»

«I told you about her. She was the woman I liked, who turned out to be a Templar. I killed her.»

«The _Apple_ killed her,» said Ezio. «You were fighting it, you said.»

«Yes, and? She still died.»

"Mi dispiace, Miles."

 

«Who was Clay?»

«Kind of a cousin,» said Miles. «An extremely distant cousin. His family line was the result of that one time in Forlì, when you raced that girl on horseback - »

«I have a _child_?» Ezio demanded.

«I mean. That's how cousins work, yeah. Anyway, don't ask me, I don't know what happened to her or the child. I didn't even meet Clay until well after he died. He saved my life.»

«So it's a tradition,» said Ezio. «Dead assassins saving live ones.»

«Twice is _not_ a tradition,» said Miles.

«It's the beginnings of one,» said Ezio, sounding happy about this.

Then, of course, Ezio asked Machiavelli to find him something to do in Forlì. Machiavelli, who was used to Ezio by now, just sighed and did. Donati came along, because, as she said, «I want to see how I do against the Master.» They raced up half the towers in the city, between going around and working their way up from minor irritation to major logistical nightmare for the papal forces in the city. What Ezio did not find, despite his best efforts, was anyone in the city who glowed that particular shade of deep azure that meant _family_.

Thank god.

 

They got back to Rome mid-February, to find that Ubaldi had made it back from Constantinople, with two foreign assassins named Mehmed and Ibrahim and fifty-one children. This was a problem. Of the fifty-one, thirty-eight had been welcomed home by tearful parents. The other thirteen, despite their families having spoken of their "kidnappings" and "going missing," had actually sold them themselves. Obviously they weren't going to send any child back to a home that would _sell_ them. But it left them having to figure out what to do with them.

«Obviously we need an orphanage,» said Donati.

«We're _assassins_ ,» said Ezio.

«We don't _run it ourselves_ ,» said Donati, as though Ezio were being an idiot. «We pay for some whores who don't want to be whores anymore to be orphanage mothers instead.»

Claudia said, «So you want me to buy a big house, for thirteen children _plus_ two caretakers _plus_ a monk to teach them their letters, and then stock it and fill it up and provide for all of those children, and probably any more who show up as well. Ezio, I know you are terrible with numbers, but do you have any idea how expensive children are?»

« . . . we can't send them home, Claudia,» said Ezio, and the hard line of Claudia's mouth softened.

«No,» she said. «Fine. I'll work something out.»

What she worked out was temporary placements in the houses of some of the whores' families for the three youngest of them, and apprenticeships for six of them in businesses the Auditores had stakes in. The last four wanted to become assassins.

«Absolutely not,» said Miles. «They're too young.»

«For missions, absolutely,» said Ezio. «But for training - for pickpocketing Borgia orders and running messages across the city - And we won't force them to stay if they don't want to!»

Two more chose just that in the first months, in fact. The two who remained, a pair of lanky boys who were so alike they could have been twins, but who kept explaining to everyone that no, they were cousins, were made of sterner stuff. They took to Claudio immediately, and he to them, and pretty soon they were inseparable in lessons and sparring. During missions, however, they were smooth and professional and even Ezio could only spot them following him through eagle's eyes.

The other thing that happened in that month was that, per Donati's request, they brought Ubaldi, Santi, and the cousins Vitelli in on the fact of Miles' existence. Ubaldi was willing to believe it, if only because of the frankly miraculous fact that Ezio had been sick for _over a month_ , and still no one else had caught the plague. A friendly ghost, he felt, was as good an explanation as any for the absolutely insane treatments that Ezio and Claudia had come up with, which against all odds always worked. And he really, really liked the rocket burners, which he'd never seen anywhere else despite the absolute simplicity and perfection of the design.

They intended to tell Santi and the Vitelli boys individually, except after telling Santi (who thought it was a great story) he immediately went and told his friends. They also thought it was a great lark. So on the one hand, they didn't believe in Miles, but on the other, they considered him harmless if he did exist. Miles was willing to take it as a win.

They didn't really intend to tell Ibrahim and Mehmed. It was one thing for assassins living under the same roof to know; it was quite another for assassins from a different country, who had only come to Italy to protect the children. But the boys didn't see a reason to keep it secret, so they found out too.

Mehmed came in to talk to Ezio about it, bowing diffidently in the Turkish style. «Master,» he said, in his heavily accented but punctilious Italian, «is it true that you have a djinn?»

Ezio said, «A what?»

«No,» said Miles. «I'm not a djinn. I'm a dead human being.»

«Ah. No. Miles is a dead person, not a - djinn, you said?»

«A creature of air and fire,» said Mehmed, «just like humans are earth and water. Like men, they may have good natures or evil ones. Like men, they can choose to follow Allah or to turn away.»

«Mm,» said Ezio. «Not that.»

«Then I must most respectfully demand that you free - Miles.»

«He can't,» said Miles. «I'm not his prisoner.»

Ezio repeated this, and added, «He is my friend. He has saved my life. And I hope you believe that I would never keep anyone here against their will.»

« . . . I have seen for myself that you would not,» said Mehmed. «But then how is it that he was not taken by the angel of death?»

«Excellent question,» said Ezio. «We don't know. Even Miles doesn't remember anything between dying and awakening with me.» This was not exactly true. Miles still didn't remember, but he knew what had happened in the gap, more or less.

«Oh.»

«Now, I have a question for you: do you intend to stay in Italy? I would be happy to have you, but,» he shrugged, «if you wish to go home, we can arrange that too.»

«I will,» said Mehmed. «I have a wife, and a young daughter. But I think Ibrahim will stay for a little while at least. It is always good to build ties, and he has family in the city here.»

Then, just after Easter (and the accompanying religious mania) an unexpected letter arrived. Ezio opened it up, took one look at the chicken scratch, and smiled in delight. «Leonardo!»

«Um,» said Miles, and Ezio looked up. Miles sighed. «Read the letter.»

Ezio read the letter. Then he looked up from the page, puzzled. «What's wrong? Leonardo has found employment in with a wealthy patron! He is being given a free purse, even.»

«Ezio,» said Miles. «Read that again, but this time, _look_.»

Ezio did, with his eagle's eyes, and read the hurried scrawl. Then his head came back up almost mechanically, and he said, «A spy. _Leonardo_.»

«I'm sure he is trying to help,» said Miles.

«Oh, of course he is trying to help! He always does! That does not remove him from danger!»

«No,» said Miles. «It doesn't. But at least they don't . . . »

«Miles? What's wrong?»

«I'm remembering things the way they were when the Borgia had the Apple,» Miles managed. «Can you imagine what Leonardo would be like? He'd want to learn everything; he wouldn't know where to stop! And the Apple - »

«Oh, no,» said Ezio.

«They wanted him to build war engines, Ezio, and probably still do. I don't know if he can, without the Apple, but it's _Leonardo_.» He'd try just to see if he could.»

«Yes,» said Ezio. «Yes, I see. What do we do?»

«What can we do? If they exist, we must destroy them - and their plans.»

«Yes,» said Ezio. And then, «You might have mentioned this earlier.»

He really, really should have. How could he not? If he'd said something last year, they could have warned Leonardo of the danger -

But he hadn't thought of it. In two years he hadn't thought of Leonardo once.

«If I'd remembered,» he said, «I would have.»

«Ah. Remember is not quite the right word, is it?»

«No,» said Miles. «And neither is forget. They're just the closest Italian has. We . . . should focus on Leonardo. Can we get a letter back to him?»

It was only with visible effort that Ezio turned his mind to the problem. «Yes; there is Machiavelli, who is _actually_ a spy. He can be our go-between.»

«Good,» said Miles. «Then first we should ask if the weapons exist. If they don't . . . »

"Si, vero," said Ezio. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, «Brother. I once offered to listen. I understand now why you do not speak, but - I would still listen.»

«Thank you,» said Miles.

It took more than a month for them to hear back from Leonardo. When they did, the news was not as dark as it could have been: of the four inventions Miles remembered, Leonardo on his own had produced only two. These were the tank and the naval cannon. Furthermore, only the tank actually functioned. They cannon was nothing like a fireball-spewing monstrosity; in fact, it sounded more like Leonardo was attempting to invent a flamethrower.

«A flame . . . thrower?» asked Ezio.

«It pumps out a stream of fuel, and then a little way past the pump there's a flame, so,» he made an expansive gesture with his hands, "fwoosh!"

Ezio's expression cleared. «Oh, like Greek fire. We needn't focus on that, then. No one has even managed to recreate Greek fire.»

«Ye-es,» said Miles. «But on the other hand, it wasn't Leonardo who was trying, was it?»

«Fuck,» said Ezio, feelingly.

«So it looks like we'll have to go sailing down the coast a little,» said Miles cheerfully. «To Naples and back.»

Ezio heaved an aggrieved sigh. «I'll just go ask the others.»

Ortensia flatly refused to leave the city. Vecellio, Varzi, and Enu had already gone on a series of sabotage missions that were supposed to take the whole summer. Donati, Ubaldi, and Bin Dovid were all eager for a mission that got them _away_ from Rome for the summer. The boys all wanted to come too, but Ezio refused based on Miles' estimates of the fighting. Four men would be enough to crew one of the tanks.

It turned out that a spring trip down the coast was only a couple day's sailing. They decided to go after the tanks first, because it was the most dangerous machine. Miles tried to describe them so Ezio could draw them out, and they managed possibly the worst drawing of a tank ever. On the other hand, they at least understood cannon, so that part wouldn't be too bad. But the plans were the most important, and they would not be easy to find.

Nor, as it happened, was the actual workshop. They were in the village for a week before an overheard conversation led them to the little-used mountain path that had clearly seen more use recently, and from there to the workshop and the tanks. There were eight of them, a ninth in the middle of construction, and about a hundred guards. Miles had, unfortunately, been absolutely right about the amount of fighting.

On the plus side, since they wanted to draw attention away from Leonardo, they'd decided to go in wearing whites. Ezio, who had the best armor, walked out in plain view as a distraction. Everyone else took out the gaping guards, at least until they'd gotten a good half-dozen. Then they got themselves in one of the tanks. The controls weren't particularly self-explanatory, but Miles had prepared them. They began firing off grapeshot. A little while later, the guards started running in the other direction.

Unfortunately, at least some of the soldiers had run _to_ the other tanks, but this was where having a plan paid off. Visibility inside the tanks wasn't great, and the defenders were focusing on the one rogue tank. The soldiers had sensibly run away from the tank fight, so there was no one to notice Ezio wandering around, climbing onto tanks, opening the hatch, and dumping grenades inside. Until, as it were, they did. He dropped two grenades each: one shrapnel, one incendiary. It didn't really take too long to get them down, all things considered.

Then they ransacked the whole place for the plans. They found, in addition to the plans, chests full of money and a few men who'd been imprisoned for turning traitor and attempting to sell the plans to Cesare's enemies. They burnt the plans, set the men free, and stole the money. All in all, not bad for ten days' work.

They sailed on down the coast the Naples, where the attempts to recreate Greek fire were not even a secret: the whole city was talking about them. They'd got a working pump. The fuel was olive oil, which splashed and spattered when water was used in an attempt to douse it. The problem was in getting it to ignite properly. So far, most of the designs didn't work, and the rest worked much too well, explosively well. The workshop was on a floating barge, which exploded and had to be rebuilt on a not-infrequent basis.

«Nope,» said Miles, after listening to the rumors for a few days. «They've gotten the fuel wrong. This won't ever work. And I won't tell what will, so . . . problem solved, I guess.»

«All that, and we just go home?» asked Ubaldi.

«Really the only thing you should do with olive oil is eat it,» said Miles.

They got back to Rome in late May to find Claudia had found permanent adoption for the last three children with families in their holdings near Monteriggioni, and they - Ezio, Santi, Vitelli, and Vitelli - were to take them to their new homes, along with whichever of the other assassins felt like joining. They could check on how the repairs on the walls and the villa rebuilding were going while they were there. Miles privately thought that it was because the boys were driving her nuts with their teenage antics, but a trip to the country couldn't hurt.

Bin Dovid declined on the grounds that despite coming to Rome to learn the ways of Roman assassins, he still hadn't spend much time in the city yet. Orlandi continued to refuse to leave Rome. Maria decided to join them; but, Miles figured, it had been her home too, for twenty years. She probably wanted to see how her people were doing, and the more the merrier, right? Three adults, obviously an heavily armed, were perhaps too few to protect an old woman and her six rambunctious grandchildren, but if the three of the grandchildren old enough to hold a crossbow . . .

It took them two weeks to get there, partly because they were going on foot instead of horseback, and partly because a couple of groups tried to ambush them. It didn't work because Miles was floating at the top of his bubble of space around Ezio and using eagle's eyes to track the country around them, and he shouted down warnings whenever he spotted anyone hostile. By the end of it, they'd killed far too many out-of-work mercenaries, and all three boys had a healthy respect for the ghost they hadn't _really_ believed in.

Once they actually _arrived_ at Monteriggioni, though, the major logistical problem of not having the villa complete made itself understood. If it had been done, they all could've slept there no problem. As it was, the east wing of the villa had floors and brick walls and a nice tile roof, and absolutely no furniture. The west wing was mostly just timber framing. Ezio made the townspeople take in Maria first off, and said, «We can camp for a few days. At least the villa is sound.»

It was, too. They were taking advantage of the rebuild to fix some of the more annoying problems with the old villa, including the kitchen being too small and inconveniently far from both the well and vegetable garden. The new kitchen had a hearth big enough to spit-roast an entire cow and a proper baking oven, although it wasn't a rocket oven so they'd have to annoy the builders by making them redo it. It also had a separate scullery, thankfully. This meant Ezio had to give up his armor and sword collections to the new library and extra bedrooms, because the old library was now the expanded kitchen; but, as Miles pointed out, keeping them around just to _look_ at was kind of a waste. Ezio sighed.

Over the next few weeks, they managed to get the three young children settled in with their new families. Donati found a theological debate partner in the priest, Ubaldi did indeed annoy the builders by ripping out and rebuilding the bread oven, and the boys made friends with Claudia's Federico and Maria Christina and the village children. This resulted in all of them running over the roofs at random intervals throughout the day, which the villagers took with varying degrees of resignation. Ezio ordered an enormous four-poster bed for his mother's room, along with a mattress and all the bedclothes. Donati got the scullery set up with barrels for boiled water, and they all learned a little about how to apply interior plaster, and how to wash it out of clothing and hair.

On most days they were in the town and the weather was nice, Ezio climbed one of the towers to watch the sunset. «Miles,» said Ezio. «I was thinking about it some more, and - some things don't make sense. I am your ancestor; fine. But I am five hundred years distant. You can know the shape of my life, but - you said you remembered watching Madonna Solari die. That didn't happen, but even if it had, how could _you_ remember it?»

«That's your question?»

«That's my question.»

«Isu had genetic memory,» said Miles. «That means they could - they didn't just remember their _own_ lives, they could remember the lives of any one of their ancestors, too. They - humans don't have that. I mean, the lives get lived and the memories are made and passed down, but humans don't actually have a way to get to them. It's like having a beautiful library full of books and the door isn't just locked and barred, it's bricked shut.»

«Oh.»

«The Templars, with the help of an Apple, invented a way to break into that library. It wasn't a _good_ way - it had a nasty tendency to drive people insane - but it worked. So. I remember, but - I didn't look at the memories of _every_ ancestor, and even the ones I did, I didn't - I skipped a lot. I know some things, some of the time. And it's the way things were without me, so who knows if it's even still true. You didn't catch the plague.» Miles held up a hand in response to the inevitable questions. «I'm still not going to tell you your future. Not unless it saves someone's life to do it.»

"Bene," said Ezio. «Thank you for answering me. I am . . . I need to think about this.»

«Write Claudia,» said Miles. «She will know how to explain it.» He paused, then added, "Mi dispiace, Ezio."

Ezio took his recruits out on patrols in the countryside. They eliminated two separate groups of summer bandits before word got around that the Auditore was in Monteriggioni this summer and therefore raiding in its general vicinity was a _bad_ idea. Desmond found it reasonably hilarious that hardened condottieri companies would go out of their way to avoid Monteriggioni just because of _one man_. By the same token, however, merchant caravans taking goods overland went through Monteriggioni as often as possible. This finally explained to Miles why a small town whose strategic importance was mostly 'give Siena warning of Florentine invasion' got so _much_ profitable traffic.

They got the walls plastered and whitewashed. It made for very plain, echoingly empty rooms. Ezio explained that the carpenter would make wainscoting and crown molding, and they'd put up pictures or wall hangings. Maria was in fact an expert at needlepoint, the one who had made all the banners in their Tiber Island headquarters, and was planning decorations already. With those, and furniture, the rooms would become very nice indeed.

Then, suddenly, it was August again and time to help with the harvest. Everyone put on the plainest clothes they had and went out to the fields every day, bringing in the grain. Miles, who couldn't really do anything helpful, wandered around through the fields and sometimes the farmers, as though that was helpful either. Yields were almost a third higher than usual. Ezio asked him about it.

«That's the alfalfa,» said Miles.

«Alfalfa increases the yield?»

«No, giving the soil nitrogen improved the yield. The plants don't really care how it got there. Any kind of bean will work, peas or lentils or whatever, but you don't grow lentils here so much.» He asked that with a half-twist at the end, a question.

«The climate is not suitable,» said Ezio. «Not enough summer rain.»

Miles nodded. «Right, but alfalfa will do the same thing and it's drought-resistant. You can get around the problem by planting alfalfa in the fallow year.»

Ezio asked, «What is nitrogen?»

«No, I'm not going to try explaining chemistry to you,» said Miles.

Ezio sighed, but went off and explained to the mayor that the higher yield was a result of the alfalfa, and they should plant it in the fallow field every year. None of them really believed him, but he was their lord and the plant was fine as animal fodder or hay, so they would humor him.

«Does it bother you?» asked Ezio. «How stupid we are in the past?»

«Ignorant, not stupid,» said Miles.

«What's the difference?»

«I managed to teach you, didn't I?»

«Yes, and I would like it if you would please teach me _more_ ,» said Ezio.

«You know why I can't,» said Miles.

«No, I don't,» said Ezio. «It would save many thousands more lives than the work of all the assassins combined! And you won't do it because of some selfish wish to still - »

«No,» said Miles. «That's not it at all. I just have to kill this one person first, and then I can tell everyone anything.»

«So? Tell me, I will go assassi - »

«How do you kill someone,» asked Miles softly, «who is already dead?»

Ezio stilled.

«Don't say it,» said Miles. «Don't even think it. Just . . . there is a plan. It's going to take me a decade at least, but there _is_ a plan. Please trust me. Okay?»

He held his nonexistent breath while Ezio thought about it. «I do,» he said finally. «I do.»

«Thank you,» said Miles.

 

They went back to Rome after the seeds were planted. They got there to find that Ortensia and bin Dovid had become a thing.

«We were gone _three months_ ,» said Ezio, looking at her in a lot more horror than Miles thought the situation warranted.

«Three months is plenty of time,» said Ortensia. «And I don't see what you being away has to do with it. You shouldn't worry. It's not as though I plan to leave the Order.»

«You don't?» asked Ezio.

«Just because _you_ don't have a wife,» said Orlandi. «I spoke with Madonna Giardiniera. Your father was an active assassin the whole time, from the moment he began courting her to the day he died. Ibrahim has been telling me of Costantinopoli. Assassins there marry all the time, have families.»

Bin Dovid coughed. «Usually not with each other.»

«But it is not forbidden. I am an assassin, and now I am courting.»

«He is a _Jew_ , Ortensia!» protested Donati.

«A good man,» said Orlandi firmly, meeting her eyes. «A kind man, a man who does not let what I was color his vision of who I am. An intelligent man, who is teaching me Greek that I may read Homer's poems in the original. And most undoubtedly a Jew.» That was what she said, but what Miles, and undoubtedly Donati, heard was, 'I have made my choice.'

«I - must go,» said Donati, and fled.

«Go after her,» said Miles, immediately, so Ezio did. It wasn't the easiest thing. Donati was fleeing over the rooftops in broad daylight, and people tended to notice that kind of thing. But Tiber Island wasn't that big, and she had to get down to ground level, amongst the crowds, if she wanted to cross a bridge. She realized it too, got to a building overlooking the river and stopped.

«Master,» she said. «I wish to be alone right now.»

«I know. Miles wishes to speak to you.»

Donati let out a rough breath. « _Miles_ does?»

«Will you hear him out?»

«Do I have a choice?» Moments stretched out, and finally Donati turned and said, «Fine. What does Miles have to say?»

«Where in the Bible did Jesus tell you to hate the his family, the Jews?»

Donati's eye widened as Ezio repeated the words.

«Where in the Bible did Jesus tell you to hate?» continued Miles.

«But - they killed Jesus!»

«Really? So it wasn't Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross, or raised it up?»

«No, but . . . the Jews sold him out! Judas, and Pontius Pilot!»

Miles nodded. «Okay, that's two. What about all the rest of the Jews in Jerusalem?» No response, which was promising. «In Galilee?» Silence. «In Nazareth?»

«Then I should just - ignore the fact that they hate him?»

«How do you know?» asked Miles, gently.

«The Church fathers - »

«Oh, well. The Church. Obviously the Vatican knows more about the Jews than _actual Jews_.» Further silence. «Have you ever, in your life, asked a Jew what they think about Jesus?»

«No,» admitted Donati.

«I'm not going to tell you what to think, Donati. That's not what assassins fight for. I am going to ask _that_ you think, that you ask questions, that you go and find answers. That you remember: nothing is absolute, and everything is possible. Okay, Ezio. We can go now.»

On the way back to the headquarters - at ground level, this time, like sensible people - Ezio said, «What actually did happen?»

«What?»

«The crucifiction. The resurrection. You know, don't you? It's why you are so sure Christ wasn't divine.»

«Yes,» said Miles. «Do you really want me to tell you?»

« . . . no,» said Ezio. «But the Jews aren't at fault?»

«Ezio, please explain to me how the _tens of thousands_ of Jews alive today could possibly have caused the Roman authorities to execute one man, fifteen hundred years ago.»

Ezio, thankfully, did not say anything flippant about his own presence there. Instead, he said, «So. Bin Dovid and Orlandi. Do you think we should plan a wedding?»

« . . . Judaism goes by the mother,» said Miles. «If she starts talking about converting, then we'll worry about a wedding.»

But it turned out that, in fact, they ought to have just gone to the Jewish quarter and asked about the Banker straight off. Bin Dovid had, and it took him about a week to come up with the name. Claudia had been using a senator creditor of his, one Egidio Troche, to learn what she could about the man all summer.

«Juan Borgia?» asked Varzi. «The cardinale?»

"Si," said Bin Dovid. «Apparently he's actually a terrible banker, too.»

«If he's giving "loans" to Cesare,» said Ubaldi. Everyone laughed; they'd stolen a lot of that money, at Mount Circero.

«So. How are we going to get to him?» asked Orlandi.

«We need to know more,» said Ezio. «Not about his business - Claudia did that - about him. We will start tracking his movements, learn when he in unprotected. We can strike then.»

The thing was, Juan Borgia was not actually stupid. He spent most of his time at home under heavy guard, some time travelling under heavy guard, and the rest in various churches. The boys were amazing, following and waiting patiently, but in the end they didn't have a good way to strike. Even poisoning was out; the man employed a food-tester for just that reason.

«Unless you can come up with an undetectable poison,» joked Ezio; but Miles thought about it. There were a lot of things that people in the future knew would kill you, but people in the past didn't. Medicines came plastered with lists of side effects, and food that shouldn't be eaten with them. Eventually Miles had to give it up: he wasn't a poisoner, never had been, and pretty much any herbal toxin he could have used was one a paranoid man like Juan Borgia would already know about.

«No,» said Miles. «What about his parties?»

«The public isn't allowed in,» said Ezio.

«And this is a problem how?» asked Miles.

«Hm,» said Ezio, and went to talk to Claudia.

Claudia, however, had a different problem.

«You want us to increase patrols?» asked Ezio.

«I want you to increase your _visible_ presence. Bringing the children back - the people trust assassins to be . . . » she sighed. «To do good things too, even if they kill. The summer campaign season is over; more and more French are coming to the city for the winter. They're bullying locals. Just do some patrols in your whites, punch some bullies - »

«Oh, a PR campaign,» said Miles, understanding.

«A what?»

«Public relations. We got a foot in the door,» said Miles, «so people don't like us, but they stopped believing Church lies. Now we have to convince them to trust us _more_ than the Church. A few low-risk but visible things - punching out harassing French soldiers - maybe one will even _ask_ for something - »

«Yes, I see,» said Ezio. "Va bene."

«You'll have to wear whites,» said Claudia. «Or people won't recognize you. But it means Cesare will notice that you're not in Venice.»

«After Mount Circero, I don't think he believed I was in Venice anyway,» said Ezio.

«There is that,» allowed Claudia.

«And what about the Banker?» asked Ezio.

«It's not like he throws a party every day, and even when he does, he doesn't hire common whores. Only the best. I'm working on it. Educating my flowers is . . . once they have another skill, many of them get bored, you know? And I can't force them to stay, that is not . . . so it's slow going.»

«Yes, I see,» said Ezio. «Well. I'll work on this French problem. You check with Machiavelli, see if he has any ideas.»

«Yes.» She appeared to steel herself before she said, «Miles . . . »

«Apple stuff?»

«Yes,» said Claudia. «Ezio, you don't have to stay for this.»

«No, I will,» said Ezio.

Claudia nodded. «I was . . . reading the instructions, I suppose. The Apple is _very_ stupid, isn't it? Explaining things to it is like . . . it's a very small child who gets bored after about three minutes, and . . . »

«Yeah,» agreed Miles, who had never been a programmer but still knew enough about this to know what she meant.

«But even so, that parts-of-things . . . »

«Program. We call it a program. Or will, eventually. God, what I wouldn't give to have Rebecca here to help.»

«Rebecca?» asked Ezio.

«She was the programmer on my team,» said Miles. «Anyway. The parts-of-things program . . . ?»

«Wants triage. I don't think it's talking about a doctor.»

«Oh,» said Miles. «Different type of Eden tool. Apples are for controlling people. Triage was . . . meant to be a medical tool.»

«Meant to be?» asked Ezio.

«Only one was ever made,» said Miles. «And it's got a dead Isu attached to it.»

Claudia and Ezio shared a worried look.

«On the bright side, he's a doctor. More or less. 'Do no harm.' He will . . . probably be helpful.»

«Where do we find this Triage?» asked Claudia.

« _We_ don't. It is coming to us. All we have to do is not change time too much until it does.»

«All right, all right,» said Ezio.

«It isn't like the Apple is going to be done yet anyway,» said Miles.

«Mm. True,» said Claudia. «I would really like to know what the plan is.»

«Don't ask me; I can't tell you.» He thought about this for a moment, and made a decision. «I don't remember the whole thing right now, but it does exist. I promise.»

«You don't remember,» said Claudia, voice dangerously even.

«How can you not remember?» asked Ezio. «Aren't they your memories?»

«Lingering damage from - » Miles sighed. «So I was watching the memories of my ancestors. Some of them, anyway.»

«Like reading a book in a library, you said,» said Ezio.

Claudia narrowed her eyes.

Miles coughed and said, «Metaphorically. But. That was a book in a library where someone had fired canon through one wall to get in. Some of it was destroyed, and all of it was in disarray. It was, extending the metaphor to the breaking point, on fire _while I was reading_ \- » He realized Ezio and Claudia were both staring at him in abject horror. «Like I said, the Animus was not a good way to get at those memories. There was a while in there when I couldn't remember who _I_ was, from minute to minute, me or my ancestors.»

« _Jesus Christ_ , Miles,» said Claudia.

«Templars did that to you?» asked Ezio.

«At first,» said Miles. «And then assassins. My - sire.» He smiled thinly. «You're right: he wasn't my father; also, he wasn't my mentor.»

«Your - and you still - How can you bear to call yourself one of us?»

«There is a reason I picked you,» said Miles softly. «Please forgive me for forgetting.»

«There is nothing to forgive,» said Ezio, voice rough with anger. «I cannot begrudge you your scars, not when it is the Order that gave them to you. And if I _ever_ meet that man, in this life or the next - »

«That is more or less why I didn't tell you,» interrupted Miles, because despite everything he did understand why William had done it, «brother. I don't think he quite understood love, not outside of an abstract. I pity him more than hate him.»

« . . . I won't speak of it, then, if it bothers you,» said Ezio. But he _would_ still do it, whatever 'it' was, if he ever had the chance to meet William.

«And in the meantime, see to these local patrols, all right?» demanded Claudia.

"Si, si," said Ezio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week in immunology, I learned that I almost certainly have rheumatoid and/or psoriatic arthritis. That's the one where your immune system decides that the cartilage in your joints/the tight junctions between skin cells that keep the outside out are not part of you, and attacks it. I'd need to see a specialist to get an official diagnosis, but, funny story, I'm really _not_ a hypochondriac. Hypochondriacs keep diagnosing themselves with terrible and deadly diseases they don't have. I, meanwhile, have twice diagnosed myself with a terrible and deadly disease, and was right about having that thing both times. (An autoimmune disease and pneumonia, respectively, if you were curious.) It's not urgent, inasmuch as I am already on the class of drug they'd give me for the rheumatoid because it also treats Crohn's disease. I'd just like to have it on my records in an official capacity.
> 
> And I'd really like to stop being right when I diagnose myself with terrible and deadly diseases.


	8. Trust

The assassins began patrolling outside their home turf of Tiber Island. The people were at first alarmed by the obvious presence of assassins, but as the weeks went on and none of them did anything - well, anything dangerous; Varzi purchased lunch pastries and Ubaldi medicine herbs, and Orlandi flirted with anyone who'd flirt back - they relaxed. Santi and Vitelli and Vitelli took on courier tasks whenever the assassins didn't need them, and in return they became everyone's troublesome but loveable nephews.

Then one day one of the French patrols, which they'd been otherwise careful to avoid, were waiting for Donati. It looked like the smart choice, if you didn't actually know any of them. Donati was the one who went out of her way to announce her presence and give people time to leave if they were uncomfortable. She was the smallest of them, Vitelli the younger having had a massive growth spurt over the summer. And if you didn't know how deadly she was, with judo and with her knives, you might think she was easy prey. The guards certainly did, pushing way too far into her personal space and offering her a warning to back off the Borgia's territory.

«Mm, no,» said Donati, and proceeded with a vicious kick to his balls, which wouldn't have worked if he'd stayed a safe distance away. While he was still crumpling, she took the second-in-command down with hard punch to the kidneys. The third one went down to a judo fall, and Donati totally dislocated his arm before she got up to face the last one. She took out her twin knives, sharp and curved, with a backward-facing hook on the tip. «We can do this the way where you run for a doctor,» she said, «or we can do this the way where I disembowel you, and then _I_ go find a doctor. Your choice, really.»

The guard, wisely, ran.

«Ugh,» said Donati, surveying where the guard she'd punched in the kidney was trying to get back up. «I hate having to fight in whites. They get all dirty.» She went and toed the patrol-leader. «Are you all right?»

«You - bitch,» he wheezed out.

«Completely fine, then,» she said. «How'd I do, Master?»

«Very well,» said Ezio, dropping down from the overlooking balcony.

«But you didn't _kill_ anyone!» said one of the bystanders, who then covered his mouth with his hands.

«Of course not,» said Donati. «We only kill as a last resort, and these fools were only working for pay. They will know better than to harass me in the future.»

«Or they will come in greater numbers.»

Donati shrugged. «Here in the streets of Rome, we have the advantage.»

This was only true in some of the streets; in general, the poorer ones with narrow alleys that prevented Borgia guards from bunching up. The poor ones were the ones being hit the hardest by the extra Borgia taxes, and consequently the ones where the papal guards, having already gotten money from the richer neighborhoods, were now concentrating their extortion. The assassins, therefore, took to patrols. Generally it was one adult and one of the boys for backup, and the backup was hardly ever necessary.

«I don't get it,» said Santi, after Ezio finished punching out yet another patrol.

«What?» asked Ezio.

«Why are they bothering these people? It's not as though they have anything _to_ take. When I was a thief we never came to neighborhoods like this.»

«Because bullies like to flaunt their power over the powerless,» said Miles.

Ezio hesitated before he said, «Because the rich and powerful can make things difficult, even for the Borgia; and these people cannot. Simply put, they are bullies.»

«Oh-h,» said Santi. «But then why don't the people just fight back? There are so many more of them?»

«They do not have armor,» said Ezio. «Or training. Do you remember? You could barely walk, to start.»

Santi made a face, then visibly cheered. «And that's what we do? The Brotherhood? Fight against bullies?»

«Fight _for_ people's right to choose,» said Miles.

Ezio repeated this, and added, «Templars think they have a right to make choices for other people, but that is . . . It's not inherently wrong, for one person to make choices for a group. You trust me to make decisions for our Brotherhood.»

«Well, _yeah_ ,» said Santi. «You're smart and strong and - and you care! About all the people, in your town, in Rome. Maybe even all of Italy!»

«Cesare and his army exist so that he can _force_ other people to follow his decisions. In the end, all bullies are like that: small people who wish to feel bigger, and do not know that greatness is not taken, but earned.»

«I understand,» said Santi. «Everything is possible, right? For everyone.»

«Exactly,» said Ezio.

At the end of October, Claudia organized a dinner party. It wasn't that much different than their usual dinner - everyone piled in to the kitchen, chatting and strategizing and eating together - but at the end of the night Claudia presented Santi and the Vitelli cousins each with a sweet fruit pastry.

«Uh,» said Vitelli the elder, looking at his.

«Miles says that on All Hallows' Eve, it is the tradition to give sweets to children. I made enough for everyone, of course. But I thought it might be nice to keep one of Miles' traditions. So? Is that it?»

«Usually we'd tell ghost stories, too,» said Miles.

«Ghost stories?»

«You know? Stories of wandering spirits? Devils, and the ways to beat them?»

«Er,» said Enu. «Are saint stories acceptable?»

«Sure,» said Miles.

«He says yes,» said Claudia.

So Enu told a story about Saint Padraig and driving the snakes from Ireland, and they were off. It wasn't quite _spooky_ stories - most of the heroes were saints and they won through the power of Jesus or the power of prayer or the power of prayer to Jesus - but air of tension was right, stories that kept everyone on the edge of their seats. They went around the room once while everyone ate their sweets and then switched over to drinking mint tisane, and when they finished Enu said, «This is a good tradition to welcome All Saints' Day. Thank you, Miles. And thank you, Claudia, for thinking of it.»

"E nessuna," said Claudia.

«It really wasn't,» said Miles. «Thank you, sister.»

He couldn't be sure because she turned her head away, but Miles thought he caught the beginning of a blush.

November arrived with a Northern vengeance, the weather snapping suddenly cold as if to make up for the mild weather so far. They had to warm up in the morning with a spar before ever going out, and after a few days Miles explained hot water bottles to Ezio. Everyone immediately got a waterskin so they could have their own, and if they added herbs they could drink the tea later when it cooled a bit. Still, no one wanted to go patrolling. Even though they had to.

After a few days, though, things got . . . better. The papal guards _were_ staying in out of the cold. No guards meant no fights in the streets, which, it turned out, meant that people started feeling more confident in just coming up to assassins and asking them things. The questions started off small and stupid and, when they didn't result in daggers to the kidneys, escalated quickly. They spent almost the whole week the cold snap lasted just answering the one question: what was their plan? The fact that their plan was to let everyone make their own choices wasn't exactly taken _poorly_ , but it wasn't quite believed either.

«It's fine,» said Miles. «It's a new idea, and those make people nervous. But once they see it's better, they'll accept it. Come to demand it.»

«Miles,» said Ezio. «Brother.»

«What?»

Ezio just shook his head.

Then the weather snapped back, suddenly remembering that the Mediterranean wasn't supposed to be this cold, and everyone came out again. This meant the French patrols were back too, but a change _had_ taken place during that week after all. People were happy to send their son to the nearest assassin when the French were harassing somebody, with the result that they didn't so much have to _patrol_ anymore, just stay put until someone informed them where the papal guards were, and then go beat them up. It was, to judge by the frequency of the information, very satisfying to the people. Miles could see why: it was incredibly satisfying to him as well.

One of the things they were told was the locations where another two groups of followers of Romulus were active. They'd done it before, of course, but that was before Orlandi, much less Enu or the cousins Vitelli or Bin Dovid. They all went in together, on a brisk morning bright with sunlight. It was clear there had been more investment in this group: better armor, better weapons, guards who were actually on guard, although not against Orlandi's wiles. They went down quickly and easily, and as these were clearly contracted mercenaries rather than local youths, Miles didn't even feel bad about the necessary, dirty work of killing them all. The assassins finished clearing and stripping the place before noon, and that was another district of Rome freed from Cesare's stupid scheme.

They finally hit something like real resistance the next day, when they went to clear out the second hideout. The news that the first had been wiped out had clearly gotten to them, because in addition to the "followers of Romulus" there was a whole detachment of papal guards. They were all bunched up together, and refused to go check out strange sounds; instead, they went on guard.

Ezio made a frustrated sound. « _Really_?» he demanded.

«You make an impression,» said Miles.

«In an unfair fight we could take them,» said Ezio. «But not . . . this.» He signalled the assassins to withdraw, and they discussed it; but they didn't really have the manpower to take down so many, so they left it with plans to come back once the Borgia had grown complacent.

By the beginning of December, they had to have a planning meeting, because travel time to and from the assassin-protected zones was actually taking more time than the patrols themselves.

«The sensible thing to do,» said Claudia, «is to make . . . well, guard posts. Assassin guard posts. Obviously we wouldn't advertise them as such, but everyone can have their own district and get to know the people we're protecting.»

«Three-man cells,» said Ezio, immediately. «In case backup is needed. And the boys to act as runners, keep everyone in concert. I suppose we will need to - if you are ready to run your _own_ cell, you are ready to graduate from journeymen.»

«I volunteer to take the Jewish quarter,» said Bin Dovid immediately. As far as Miles knew, he was _already_ living there.

«I'll go with him,» said Orlandi.

«I will stay on Tiber Island,» said Donati, firmly. She'd gotten over Orlandi's choice, but not _much_ over.

«I think Varzi and Enu and I can move north into the centro district,» said Vecellio.

Ubaldi shrugged. «I'll stay here. It would be a pain to move again.»

«We still need at least one more person for the Jewish quarter.»

«We'll need more people anyway. Keep an eye out for - possible candidates. If you find one, let me know and I can take a look. We will have to be on the lookout for potential Borgia spies, after all.»

«Agreed,» said Varzi.

"Va bene," said Claudia. «Go find buildings that would serve our purposes. It's best if there is a business in the building that can mask our presence, and rooftop access. Let me know when you find them, and I'll make some inquiries.»

«Claudia the assassin banker,» said Vicelli the younger.

« _Auditore_ ,» said Claudia.

Finding the buildings turned out to be more difficult than outfitting them properly. Even so, the beds were, to Miles' Ikea-trained mind, _ridiculously_ expensive. All of the furniture was. It made sense after only a moment's thought: everything had to be made by hand, so everything had to reflect the time and labor involved in every step, from cutting the wood to final polishing. The assassins _were_ filthy rich, mostly a result of Claudia's business acumen, and they got good-quality everything. By the middle of December they had a bunch of satellite quarters, which had beds and worktables, and they were working on the rest.

Then, of course, it was time to prepare for Christmas. Everyone except Bin Dovid and Santi came over early to help. Varzi and the Vitelli boys got assigned to cleaning and decorating, while Ubaldi, Orlandi, and Enu cooked. Maria and Claudia arrived just after noon. They didn't really all fit around the table, but squished in to make room, all of them talking and laughing and eating at once. Miles found himself smiling.

«Oh,» said Claudia, out loud. Then, when everyone turned to look at her, she said, «Miles was smiling a real smile. I don't think I've ever seen him smiling because he is _happy_. It's nice.»

«Ah,» said Maria.

«You should smile more,» added Claudia.

After Ezio and Vecellio and Donati and cleaned up, helped by everyone hauling water, they played games. Miles' chess game was better now, but not by much. On the other hand, he usually beat the pants off everyone but Claudia at Rithmomachy, especially if he was playing white. He wouldn't, previously, have called himself good at math. It was just that Italy had adopted Arabic numerals less than a hundred years ago, and apparently still _hadn't_ figured out long multiplication and division. Claudia had to go back to the Rosa, so he played until they demanded that he take black, and then he won those games, too.

«It is still really weird,» said Orlandi. «Playing against someone I can't see. You could go to the public house and win a _lot_ this way.»

«That's cheating,» said Miles.

«There is no such thing as cheating,» said Ezio, so Miles demanded a game against _him_ , and proceeded to trounce him.

At church, the line of them filled a whole pew. There was no way the man leading the services didn't know exactly what they were, but one of the reasons they went to the Chiesa di San Giovanni Calibita instead of the Basilica di San Bartolomeo all'Isola was that the Benedictine nuns who ran the place would turn none away. It was as boring as all the other masses as far as Miles was concerned, but Enu liked it a lot. "We do not have such choirs in Aragon," he said, and hummed the whole way home.

The assassins kept patrolling, but they also took time to enjoy the festivities for all twelve nights. There were mystery plays put on by the major guilds, games, food, and dancing. Ezio flirted with everyone as per usual, and there were a couple of days when Miles didn't watch him fail to sleep because he was with this woman. Donati clearly didn't approve, but it mostly amused Ubaldi. 

Then it was the Year of the Lord 1502, and everyone settled in for the dreariest part of winter. The French, tired of being beaten probably, weren't even going out anymore unless they could help it. The papal guards near the Vatican were a different story, but there were far fewer of them. So the businesses did all right, and as they came back to life the people began to do better as well. By the middle of February, _serious_ money began to accumulate in assassin coffers.

«All right,» said Ezio in satisfaction. «Miles. Let's talk about aqueducts.»

«Oh my god,» said Miles.

The thing was, an aqueduct, at least the way Romans built them, was just a whole bunch of arches. People had done the opposite of forget how to build arches in the Middle Ages, and they'd also invented flying buttresses. Roman aqueducts had been built of brick-faced concrete, but there was nothing objectively _wrong_ with brickwork, as long as it was well-mortared. There were plenty of bricklayers in the city who knew their trade. The problem was more going to be getting enough bricks. They were going to have to construct a clay industry wholesale in order to make enough of them.

Ezio smiled and said, «All right. We'll dig clay pits.»

«Are you literally trying to employ every man in Rome?» asked Miles.

«Monteriggioni does best when there is enough food for everyone, enough clothing that no one goes naked, enough shelter that no one goes homeless, and enough money that everyone can enjoy life. Of course I wish every man in Rome to be employed.»

« . . . then you'd better figure out what you're going to do when the aqueduct is finished,» said Miles. «Because it's a lot of work, but only for a few years. Then it's only as much work as it takes to maintain it. Come to think of it, you'll need to set up a trust, or it's going to start falling apart again the instant Claudia stops paying attention to it.»

«Of course,» said Ezio. And, «There are other ancient ruins in the city.»

Miles blinked at the non sequitur before realizing it wasn't a non sequitur. «Yes, but - take the Trajan baths. Even if you did rebuild them, you'd have to convince people to _use_ them again for it to do any good.» He thought about it, then added, «Actually, do that. A working bathhouse makes a lot of jobs: the people who work the pumps, and the stokers who tend the fires, and the people who cut down wood to burn, and the bath attendants themselves. And the public health benefits . . . »

«Then we have a plan,» said Ezio, and went to go see Claudia.

«No, no, _no_ ,» said Claudia. «Ezio, I am an Auditore, not a miracle worker! This plan of yours isn't going to - »

«To bring clean water to the vast majority of the people of Rome?» asked Ezio archly. «To reduce the epidemics which the city suffers on a very nearly yearly basis down to _nothing_ , because infected shit isn't in the water supply anymore? Yes, it _will_ , Claudia; and because it will, we assassins must make it happen. God knows the _Church_ hasn't done it, not in a thousand years, and it has no plans to do it now either. So it must be us.»

Claudia dropped her eyes first.

«Don't think of it as one impossible problem,» said Miles. «Break it down into a five or seven really hard problems, and then break those down into a dozen tricky problems, and then break those down into a hundred solvable problems, and - _delegate_ , Claudia. Your flowers, the ones who gain other skills and then promptly leave the Rose for more interesting pastures? Hire _them_. This is exactly the sort of thorny problem they'll love!»

Claudia brought her head back up, slowly. «Do you think so?»

«I know so,» said Miles. «Hell, for that matter, start sponsoring some of them as architectural apprentices. They'll love the work, be good at it, and we'll get a discount.»

«For all the future building projects you have planned?»

«For all the future building projects _Ezio_ is going to ram through,» said Miles, who by now felt qualified to predict exactly what their brother was going to do.

Claudia narrowed her eyes. «Don't think I don't know you put him up to this!»

«If you think I suggested that we repair th - » began Miles.

«No,» said Claudia. «You're just the one who convinced him it's a good idea.»

«It _is_ a good idea, though,» said Ezio, stepping neatly into the budding argument and drawing their ire off of each other. And, incidentally, to him. «Can you imagine? A city without summer epidemics? Not you, Miles, we know you grew up without them, but - »

Claudia sighed. «We're also going to have to invent vaccines, for us to get the real benefit.»

«Cows . . . ?» asked Ezio. «What do cattle have to do with it?»

« _Nothing_ ,» said Miles firmly. «Not until the Shroud gets to us.»

«Oh,» said Ezio. «One of _those_ things. How much longer until that happens, then?»

«Sometime this year,» said Miles, and then his weird origami memory folded out a little more and he remembered. «Oh, _shit_ ,» he said. «We've got to warn Vecellio!»

«About what?» asked Ezio.

«The inn. The damn inn, the ambush - Varzi and Enu will _die_ \- »

«Brother, calm down!» said Ezio. «Tell me what you remembered, and we will fix it together.»

«Yes,» said Miles, as the rush of memory left him and rationality reasserted itself. «Yes, of course. I'm sorry.» He told them both about what he'd remembered, the ambush at the inn and how it scarred Vecellio.

«Right,» said Ezio, and stood up. «Sister, will you - ?»

«Of course, idiota,» said Claudia. «I'll start looking at architects.»

«Ones who build churches,» put in Miles. «We needs architects who build arches, and they will know.»

«Yes,» said Claudia. «The two of you are going to be the death of me, I swear.»

Ezio hugged and kissed her before they left. On the way back to Tiber Island, he said, «Why do we need Triage?»

Miles sighed. Ugh. This conversation. «It can fix practically any wound, but it can't - bring back the dead. I mean, you can try to use it that way, but what you're going to get is a perfectly healthy body without anyone inside. A body alone can walk and eat and sleep and things, but once the soul is gone, there's no way to bring the person back.»

«But,» said Ezio, slowly, «we have _you_ : a soul without a body.»

«Mm,» agreed Miles. «It's much more complicated than that, but you've got the right idea. The thing is, building bodies from the atoms on out is not what the Triage was intended to do, and so it can't. Not on its own. Apples weren't really made to save souls either: they were made to subjugate them. It's . . . not going to be easy, even with all of the pieces. We're using a paintbrush as a chisel and a horseshoe to hammer in nails.»

«I . . . take your point,» said Ezio. «But I am glad anyway.»

«Glad?» asked Miles.

«When this works, you will be flesh and blood, will you not? I will be able to hug my brother.»

Miles blinked. «You . . . want to?»

«For such a wise man,» said Ezio, «you can be very blind, Miles. Of course I want to. I have wanted to since you _apologized_ after saving Monteriggioni.»

«Oh.»

Ezio sighed. It was his I-really-hate-your-sperm-donor sigh. «Nevermind. What are we going to tell Vecellio?»

What they told Vecellio, it turned out, was that they wanted to help him rescue his brother.

«You - what?» he asked blankly, too shocked to even try blustering his way through it.

«Your brother,» said Miles. «Giovanni. He is our brother too. We would - greet him. Teach him. Welcome him. We want to help rescue him. Will you let us?»

Ezio finished repeating the words just as Vecellio sat down as if his strings had been cut. «You . . . would do that?» he asked, strangled hope and wonder in his tone. «Even though his mother is - »

«A woman who loves her son,» cut in Ezio, quickly. «A woman who does not wish to see him forced to serve the same cunning and twisted master as she must. And we, of all people, we assassins know: the sins of the parents are not inherited by the children.»

«Yes,» said Vecellio, and, « _Thank_ you, Master. In this I will gladly accept your expertise.»

His plan, it turned out, was to rescue Giovanni during Easter, when he would be brought to Rome for the festivities. His guards and caretakers would all be distracted. Furthermore, the Basilica would be absolutely packed for the holiday, which would aide their ability to vanish afterwards. It was a decent enough plan, for one assassin to run alone. With two of them, however, a whole range of new possibilities opened. Especially since Giovanni had eagle's eyes, and would easily be able to spot the three of them.

Still, not being paranoid wasn't a great trait in an assassin. Ezio and Vecellio got dressed in clothes that blended more effectively than whites, and went wandering around the Basilica with the rest of the pilgrims. Ezio even took an artist's sketchbook, and got really good sketches of - to anyone looking - the architecture, along with the lines of sight and distances. At night, they snuck back in and climbed up and over, double- and triple-checking their measurements. Then they went home to plot.

They spent a week practising, and then, since that was as good as they were going to get without a dry run, stopped and focused on other things. Vecellio and his team were going to have be out of Rome a lot this summer, undermining Cesare's power base. That, in turn, meant that all of the other assassins in Rome would have to be running less frequent two-man patrols if they wanted to keep the whole city covered. They really needed to increase their forces by another third _at least_.

That front was helped by Claudia having done her usual thing, which resulted in two _thousand_ people, many of them poor laborers, suddenly having jobs. It meant that ten thousand people - a quarter of the population of Rome - were suddenly financially secure. That, in turn, was pushing wages higher. Costs were rising too, but not as much. Rome had a weird labor market, because of the way the cartels known as guilds had cornered the market for some jobs, and other jobs were regarded as belonging solely to women or children. Miles had to frown at that.

«Why does that make you unhappy?» asked Ezio.

«Where I'm from,» said Miles, «it's actually illegal to employ a woman for less pay than a man, or to employ anyone at all below the age of sixteen.» Ezio's eye widened. «Children should be in school, learning to read and write and solve problems, not working in a clay pit.»

« _Everyone_?» asked Ezio. «Everyone can read?»

«Of course,» said Miles. Ezio just shook his head.

Somehow, Claudia had gotten all of this done and also seeded the rumor mill. Basically no one knew who the assassins actually were, but it was an open secret that they were the ones who were fighting the followers of Romulus and paying for the repairs to the aqueducts. It got to the point that the Vatican ordered priests to begin decrying this as a lie. In response, Maria asked them to run a few patrols _in their whites_ near the construction sites, and only a week of that was sufficient to convince everyone that, Church or no, it was the assassins after all.

It also earned them their next recruit. She showed up at one of the work sites for a week solid, helping to haul water for the mortar, until the next time an assassin patrol was in the area. Then she walked straight up to them and demanded, «You are the assassin?»

It was Ubaldi, thankfully, near the Aqua Claudia, which of course Claudia had opted to fix first. He still looked taken aback. «Ye-es,» he said carefully.

«Good. I want to join you. Take me to your captain.»

At this point, Ezio clearly decided that Ubaldi was out of his depth. More to the point, he and Miles could see, as Ubaldi couldn't, that the woman was green like a bloodstone: hard and deep and shot through with red. He slipped sideways through the crowd and came to stand next to them. «His captain,» said Ezio, sternly, «is here. Why do you want to join us?»

«Were you just - _following_ \- »

«Of course. Assassins are a brotherhood; we don't work alone,» said Ezio. «Why do you want to join us?»

«Because - that! You just told me the truth. I know because it's _obvious_ , if you take two seconds to think about it. You tell the truth, and your brotherhood tells the truth, while the Church and the Pope lie and lie and _lie_! Why are you repairing the ancient aqueducts? To give people jobs repairing old monuments?»

Ezio stilled. Very few people saw that deeply, much less strangers. «It turns out that disease spreads when shit from the sick gets into the water. We are arranging for the people of Rome to have a clean water supply, even in summer, from a spring far from any shitting sick people.»

« . . . and that must be true, too. No one would tell such a ridiculous lie. So. I wish to join you.»

Ezio looked at her. She was old, Miles would have said sixties but the way people aged she was probably only in her forties.

«Do you have any useful skills?» asked Ezio.

«I can spin, sew, read, and write,» said the woman. «In my youth I was a nun, until I was raped by a priest and thrown out with nothing but a baby on the way. I have had work as a copyist, and lately, an auditor at the bank of Sabato d'Elia the Jew.»

«He is known to us,» allowed Ezio. He was the one who'd called the Banker a terrible banker. «Come. Walk with me. Ubaldi - »

«Yes, Master,» said Ubaldi, and turned to tailing _them_. It wasn't an effective disguise since he was wearing his whites, but it certainly didn't look like he was tailing anyone, at least.

«All right,» said the stranger. «I'm impressed.»

«Do you have a name?» asked Ezio. «Mine is Ezio.»

«Everyone knows _your_ name. I am Carlotta.»

«Hello, Carlotta. It is nice to meet you.»

«Is it?»

«It is always nice to meet someone who seeks truth,» said Ezio.

Carlotta blinked. Carlotta said, «And that was . . . also true. Do you _actually_ not know how to lie?»

«Oh, I'm a very good liar, when I need to be,» said Ezio, «but I would not dare lie to a woman such as you, Signora Carlotta. And I do not wish to, either. What have they done with your child, do you know? I assume it is your child?»

Carlotta almost flinched back. « - my grandson,» she said. «And my daughter-in-law. They wanted her for a wet-nurse, they said, and it's good money for minding an extra baby. Only there was no baby, and now they are both - my son - »

«We have some time,» said Ezio. «Even the Borgia cannot be stupid enough to think you could announce your intention to join us, and then join us without building up some trust first. That you met me today will be enough, I think. Holy Week is next week, so they can expect nothing then either. We will talk more after Easter.»

«I understand.»

«If you can find out anything about where they are being held, we might be able to help,» he added.

«Why would you?» asked Carlotta.

«Because kidnapping is wrong,» suggested Ezio. «And good people do not approve of men who will kidnap a new mother and her infant.»

«And that attitude works for you, does it?»

Ezio just made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the work site and, to a greater extent, the city, and smiled.

Carlotta said, «Of course. I look forward to talking with you again after Easter.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truefacts: Roman concrete, unlike modern concrete, can last for millennia without upkeep because it self-repairs when it weathers. The secret to this behavior was recently discovered to be a result of using volcanic ash in the concrete mix. The chemistry of volcanic ash means the concrete starts growing new rock crystals whenever the interior is exposed. This was not known in 2012, so Desmond has no idea. On the plus side, aqueducts, which are gravity-fed pipes way up in the air, don't require more engineering than the Renaissance can provide.
> 
> The Italian word for cow is _vacca_. The word vaccine, in fact, is based on the fact that the very first vaccine (which protected against smallpox) was to deliberately infect a person with _vaccinia_ virus, aka _cow_ pox, so named because it gave cows pox on their udders. This virus is not pleasant, because who wants to be sick, but it behaves more like a cold than like the deadly and disfiguring smallpox. Even children survive cowpox, which we know because the first person to be vaccinated with it was an _eight year old_ , who was then _deliberately infected with smallpox_ to show that he had developed immunity. (This is extremely unethical and would never fly today, but back in the 1700s . . . 9.9 Do not do this.) So vaccines were invented, because of some sick cows. And now you know.
> 
> This week in immunology, I am almost done with this short course and I have learned that I might not actually be making autoantibodies. It is instead possible that the problem with me is not a problem _with me_ , but with the bacteria in my gut. Specifically, a number of gastrointestinal diseases (in lab mice and in people) have been found to be caused by not having enough of certain beneficial bacteria, and too many bacteria that want to get out of my gut and into my blood. My immune system thus mounts a defense, which is the correct thing to do; but since the bacteria keep making more of themselves, the defense is ongoing and the inflammation doesn't stop and damages my tissues. There is no real cure for this, since the attacking bacteria are often antibiotic-resistant and anyway antibiotics would murder all the good bacteria, but it is nice to know that I'm not as much a garbage fire as I previously thought!


	9. Rescue

Holy Week was the usual batshit pageantry, mystery plays and fasting and extra masses and all the rest. It was followed immediately by the screaming celebration of Easter Sunday, during which Vecellio went to Saint Peter's Basilica and met up with his brother at the fountain. Ezio, meanwhile, showed up in whites, making sure to get the attention of as many of the boy's guards as he could before heading out. Miles, who was floating up at the top of the bubble, saw Vecellio give Giovanni the deep green cloak over his white-gold one, and both of them turn to leave.

Then there was an exciting chase through the throngs of churchgoers until the bells began to peel out, and the guards _had_ to go back. Ezio climbed up to a second-floor balcony, through somebody's bedroom, a flight of stairs, and a kitchen full of very flustered cook, before heading out the back.

They got back to the headquarters much later, after a day spent mostly being seen by papal patrols all over the city. At some point, someone must have noticed Giovanni was missing, because the guards got frantic in trying to _catch_ him. Ezio was hot and sweaty, and was very pleased to find that Vecellio had made a bath for him. Giovanni sat at the table, eating a dried apple someone had given him and asking Vecellio question after question. Vecellio was doing his best to answer, but he couldn't really finish one before the next was asked. Ubaldi and Orlandi were finishing up with making a festive meal, and other assassins were helping with bringing in another table from the basement. It'd barely fit in the kitchen, but they didn't fit at one anymore either.

Consus was sitting next to Giovanni on the other side. He looked up when Ezio entered, and then zeroed in when Miles did. «You there!»

Miles held up his hands. «Hello, Consus. I am Miles, that's Ezio, and I think Vecellio you've already met. I imagine you have some questions.»

Some didn't really begin to cover it. Consus was at least better at questions than Giovanni: he asked one, listened to the answer, and then asked thoughtful follow-ups. Then, at about the point Miles was explaining what Juno had wanted with the brain-uploading Consus had pioneered, he said, «No.»

«What?»

«No,» said Consus. «That is not - unless she was going to use it to save everyone, my people and yours - she had _no right_. She did not; all she had to do was link me to the Grey, but she didn't. She never had any intention of helping.»

«I'm sorry,» said Miles.

Consus sighed. «There is no such thing as a good war. Give me . . . give me some time.»

«Of course,» said Miles. Consus had to have known, about humanity, about the collapse of the Isu civilization, but this must be the first time he'd been able to talk to anyone with answers. The fact that he didn't like the answers was . . . a truth, and Miles already knew how Consus thought about truth. That he needed time to grieve was not surprising.

He vanished.

Ezio blinked. «Er.»

«Where'd he go?» asked Miles.

Giovanni pointed proudly to his sash. «He's inside.»

«Inside?» asked Ezio, and looked over at Miles. «Can you do that?»

«Not that I know,» said Miles, feeling as baffled as Ezio looked. «Giovanni, how long does he stay inside usually?»

Giovanni shrugged. «He stayed inside six weeks one time. Grandpa was _very_ angry.»

«Knowing your grandfather,» murmured Ezio to Miles. Then he leaned in so he could speak face-to-face with the boy. «It appears we have some time. How do you feel about a good Easter feast?»

Giovanni felt excellently about it. He'd been smelling it for hours how, and Ubaldi's cooking was never second-best. Also, Vecellio had been introducing him all day, and he was practically glowing under the combined attention of ten assassins. When Maria and Claudia arrived, he stood up, did a perfect court bow, and then ran forward to offer them hugs.

«And who is this?» asked Claudia. «Brother, did you _steal_ someone's child?»

«I ran away!» said Giovanni. «My big brother Vecellio came to bring me here.»

«Yes,» said Enu, crossing his arms. «About that - »

«He is the illegitimate son of Lucrezia Borgia and Perotto Calderon,» said Ezio.

«And you thought it was a good idea to _kidnap him_?» demanded Varzi.

«The one who betrayed the Order?» asked Ubaldi.

«Aunt is my _mom_?» asked Giovanni.

Ezio held up his hands, and almost immediately, there was silence. «He did not betray the Order. He loved his own son. Giovanni was born . . . » he hesitated.

«It's okay,» said Giovanni. «Aunt - mother - always called me her miracle boy. My back wasn't complete.» He touched a place on his back, just below his neck. «It was all open, and there was stuff coming out.»

«Thank you,» said Ezio, who looked more disturbed than thankful. «He would have died. Calderon did the only thing a father could do.» He coughed. «Which worked, as you can see. He never really wanted to have to kill anyone, but, it must be said, the assassins had been jealousy hoarding the Triage, instead of using it, for more than a hundred years.»

«I believed it was just a story,» said Maria, hand halfway to her lips.

«No. But it has - a sort of mind. Consus decides who to heal, and Consus . . . »

«He can't fix everyone,» said Giovanni. «I asked last year when my friend Jacopo had the pox. He said he could fix me because I was _young_ , and he can fix some people who have the right blood, but not most people. He wasn't able to fix Jacopo, so he died.»

Everyone was looking at Giovanni with varying degrees of sorrow and pity and horror.

«We wish for Consus to become our ally, and so we will take good care of our new little brother,» said Ezio.

«But - _Lucrezia Borgia_!» protested Orlandi.

«Shame on you!» replied Donati, immediately. «The sins of the mother are not the sins of the son! Giovanni is young. In that pack of liars, they might have made of him a monster. At least with us, he will grow with a choice.»

«If they ever stop looking for him,» said Enu.

Giovanni looked down and said, «They won't look for me. Au - mother is the only one who even likes me, and I guess that's only because mothers _have_ to, right?»

«No mother _has_ to love her children. There are too many mothers who do not,» said Maria, stepping forward. «Children always know. If Giovanni says that his mother loves him, but his uncle and grandfather do not, we will believe him. Perhaps we have a chance.»

«A chance?» demanded Varzi. «For what?»

«If she can love,» said Donati, «then Lucrezia is not only hate. If she is not completely hate, then she is not completely a monster. She can make a different choice.»

Orlandi snorted. «If you think Lucrezia Borgia will ever make a difference choice - »

«Not while her father and brother live,» said Claudia. «Or at least not openly. But . . . nothing is absolute.»

In the silence, Giovanni said very quietly, «Do . . . do you want me to go back?»

«No, brother,» said Vecellio, leaning forward to hug his little brother from behind the chair. «No.»

«Even though I'm trouble for you?»

«Good things are often worth a little trouble to keep,» said Maria. «We want you here as long as you wish to stay.»

Giovanni took a deep breath, then looked up. «I want to stay.»

«Then you will stay,» said Donati, giving Varzi a look that dared contradiction. Varzi, however, was looking at Giovanni with a frown like she'd just realized he was his own person, even at five years old, and he was absolutely terrified of going back to live with Cesare and Rodrigo Borgia.

«Well,» said Maria, clasping her hands, «now that is settled, perhaps we can have this wonderful supper that Ugo and Ortensia have so generously prepared?»

 

About a week later, Carlotta found Bin Dovid while he was patrolling, and started shouting about kidnapping children not being a thing that _good men_ did. It attracted the attention of a Borgia patrol as well as a lot of passerby, and she wouldn't shut up until Bin Dovid promised to bring her to Ezio. At least, this was what they managed to get out of Vitelli the younger when he showed up at a full sprint before dashing off.

Carlotta and Bin Dovid were actually at one of the public fountains near the Jewish quarter sitting on a bench. He brightened visibly when he saw Ezio. «Master, this woman just - »

«I know,» said Ezio. «It is all right; you can return to your duties. I will speak to her.»

«You will explain to me, you mean,» caid Carlotta. «I thought you believed that kidnapping was wrong - »

«Kidnapping _is_ wrong - »

«You stole Cesare Borgia's son!»

«No. Cesare Borgia's _nephew_ ran away to live with his elder brother,» said Ezio. «Who loves him, and is taking care of him, and will not force him to go back. Not when he came to us _afraid_ of the man he called father.»

«Spare the rod,» began Carlotta.

«There is a difference between discipline and damage,» said Ezio flatly.

« . . . still the truth,» said Carlotta, finally. «But _he_ won't believe it. When can I see him?»

«What?»

«It would be a good gesture of trust, and I'd like to see him alive and well. Cesare is worried, and _very_ angry.»

«He can be as angry as he likes. That doesn't make it acceptable to beat a five-year-old black and blue. You can tell him I said so, if he asks.»

«Oh, he will,» said Carlotta. «And he'll demand to know why I haven't made any progress in earning your trust.»

«You have made progress in earning my trust,» said Ezio. «Which means I'm going to treat you the way I treat _all_ of my potential recruits, and do some digging. In the meantime, tell me, does Cesare ever let you see your family?»

«On Sundays,» said Carlotta promptly. «When he told me that they were kidnapped, I told him that he is the kind of man who was more likely to have just killed them, and I might as well die too without them. So he had them brought to see me, and since then, we see each other every week in church.»

«Which one?» asked Ezio.

«Does it _matter_?» asked Carlotta.

«Guards don't typically want to move protesting captives long distances,» said Ezio. «So they're being held near whichever church it is.»

Carlotta looked surprised, and then looked thoughtful. «Then they're in the monastery of Saint Augustine. That is where we meet in prayers on Sunday; it's well-regulated and secret, so the monks could keep their presence hidden; and it's just outside the Vatican, where Cesare can keep a close eye on them.»

«Great,» said Ezio.

«What?»

«I hate having to infiltrate monasteries,» said Ezio, then waved his hand. «No, don't mind me. I'm just complaining. Carlotta . . . once I rescue them, you're all going to have to leave Rome. Do you have someplace to go?»

« . . . no,» said Carlotta, slowly. «But my son - is a mason. He'll be fine, him and Serena. And the baby.»

«Not you?»

«I already told you, Master Ezio,» said Carlotta, «I want to join you.»

«Tell me that again when your family is safe,» said Ezio. «Come. Let us go find lunch together. That will look trusting on my part, won't it?»

«It will,» said Carlotta, and unbent enough to show him to one of the local eateries, which was indeed quite good. She asked about Ezio's past, but not the usual kinds of questions. Everyone knew the broad strokes, of course: the assassins were after the Borgia for revenge, because Alexander VI had done some very dark things indeed to become the pontiff. Carlotta didn't ask about those, though. She asked about why the pope thought he'd needed to get them out of the way.

«The templars fight assassins,» said Ezio. Then he had to back up and explain that the templar order had never been really disbanded, and the perfect beautiful world they imagined free from the evils of free will.

Carlotta snorted.

«This is funny?»

«If God had wanted Men to be obedient, surely he was capable of crafting us without free will. Since he did not, we must conclude that was not his desire; in which case, not even the pope has any right to naysay.»

«That is not how the templars see things,» said Ezio.

«Obviously,» said Carlotta.

After lunch they parted, Carlotta to make her report and Ezio ostensibly when to go change and case the monastery of Saint Augustine. In actuality, though, he did exactly the same thing as he did with any other recruit, and tailed Carlotta. She was living, with her son the mason, in the central district. The house was big for the two of them.

She stayed there for several hours, until a guard captain - not Cesare himself, of course, but someone he trusted - came to take her to Cesare. They followed, at a distance, as the guards harassed the old woman and took her on a meandering walk. Miles thought they were trying to shake anyone following her, as though anyone with eagle's eyes could be shaken so easily. The path ended, of course, at the church of Saint Mary and the Martyrs, where a large carriage was waiting presumably with Cesare inside.

«Damn,» said Ezio, seeing the carriage.

«It's fine,» said Miles. «Go sit on the bench to the left, with those pilgrims. I'll just be able to reach.»

So Ezio did, and, at the very edge of his range, Miles walked over and stood halfway inside the carriage.

« - sked him to let me meet with the boy, but," and here, Carlotta paused, «he seemed convinced that the boy does not want to return.»

«He's _my_ son!»

«They feel he is in danger from you. Auditore mentioned anger being no reason to beat a child black and blue.»

Miles saw Cesare's gloved hand clench into a fist. «You can tell him - »

« _I_ can't tell him anything,» said Carlotta. «At least, if you don't want him to know . . . »

Cesare's hand unclenched. «In _deed_. You had lunch together. Can I take it that he trusts you more now?»

Carlotta snorted. «If that man trusts anyone living, I'll be extremely surprised. He dislikes me less. It's not the same thing. _But_ I did ask to see the boy, and I think he may let me.»

«Then you can find out where he is being held.»

«I will try,» said Carlotta, «but I don't control him.»

«That has been made abundantly clear. Just . . . get into his confidences.»

Carlotta sighed. «Yes, Lord Borgia.»

While Carlotta was being taken home - by a much more direct route than they'd gone - Miles related the conversation. Ezio didn't stop moving, but he did tighten a bit in anger. He changed out of his whites and into the slightly faded green he favored for not being seen, and headed to the monastery of Saint Augustine. It turned out to not be a big building, like Miles had been thinking: it was an otherwise normal courtyard house, just south of the Basilica of Saint Peter.

«Hey,» said Miles. «Don't climb in. Let me see if I can go in and find them. Just walk around the walls slowly.»

"Va bene," said Ezio, and went to take a nice stroll while Miles walked through the walls.

It was immediately apparent that all of the monks were aware of the presence of Serena and her baby: aware, and not at all pleased. He followed one of them to a cell with a heavy door, where inside there was one woman, spinning wool into yarn, and her baby with her. Neither of them seemed to be in any physical distress, and the baby was even sleeping. The woman was unhappy, face tight and drawn, though.

«Found them,» said Miles, when he went back out. «The monks don't agree with the pope on this one.»

«Enough that they will help us?» asked Ezio.

«No,» said Miles, thinking about the hushed voices and sideways glances. «But enough that they will look the other way when we go to rescue them.»

«When,» said Ezio.

«Like there was any chance at all that we weren't,» Miles shot back.

Ezio chuckled. «You know me so well, brother.»

«She's being kept in a cell,» said Miles. «Third storey. I think we can do this from the roof, actually, as long as we're clever about it. But . . . just because we rescue her doesn't mean Cesare is going to stop, you know. He's going to find some other poor woman to blackmail instead.»

«Yes,» agreed Ezio. «To defeat this snake, we must cut of the head.»

« . . . Cesare, yes,» said Miles. «And then Rodrigo.»

«Not Lucrezia?»

«For Giovanni's sake, if not her own.»

«Ah. I believe we will have time, once he leaves for the summer campaign. He won't try it again until he returns.»

«That puts us on the clock,» said Miles.

«A time limit, yes,» said Ezio. «But the combined papal and French armies have stalled at Bologna, and with Bartolomeo and his men attacking their supply caravans, plus our interference with their pay, it's just a matter of time. »

«So you have figured out a way to get at Juan Borgia, then?»

« . . . no,» said Ezio.

«Mm-hm,» said Miles. «We can do this, but then we will have to defeat him by August at the latest. That's not a whole lot of time.»

«Five months,» said Ezio. «We can do it; we can't leave Serena and the baby.»

«No. We can't.» Miles sighed. «All right. As soon as Cesare leaves the city, then.»

But Cesare seemed not to want to leave. March finished and April began, and Giovanni's bruises faded, but not before they took him to meet Carlotta at Magdalena's. Both women pursed their lips, and Magdalena gave Griovanni a green-smelling liniment to put on the bruises and help with the pain. By mid-April, he was running wild with the rest of the children in the central district. He didn't join their complaints about Latin lessons, though; he knew Latin, and, it turned out, Greek and French and German and _Mandarin Chinese_

«Okay, no,» said Miles, stepping back. «Using Consus is cheating, Giovanni. What happens if he's not with you, and people expect you to be able to speak French? You must learn it properly.»

«When will Consus not be with me?»

«When he needs to hide, for example,» said Miles.

«Why would I need to hide?» asked Consus.

«Juno's still around,» said Miles, evenly. «Dead, but very much not gone. Do you think she will leave you alone, if she knows you survived? If she knows you _helped a human child_?»

«I - oh,» said Consus, and vanished again. Miles sighed, and handed the Apple back to Claudia.

Claudia said, « _Can_ it teach me languages? Not - using it the way you were, and Giovanni, to do the translating, but - actually learning them?»

«Hm? Oh, probably,» said Miles.

«Excellent,» said Claudia. «Come, Giovanni. We can learn Latin together.»

Claudia _was_ a mother, whose most recent child had been five only three years ago. She knew exactly how to get Giovanni interested in his Latin lessons, and Giovanni was . . . slightly not-human, courtesy of Consus. So after another couple of weeks, Giovanni actually could understand Latin, and was teaching Claudia and Vitelli and Vitelli and Santi and Vecellio and Donati and Enu and Ezio and Miles. It was chaotic, but it was fun, too, and it more than anything was effective at bringing Giovanni out of his shell.

That, it turned out, was effective at getting Consus to come out and talk.

«Really? I thought you didn't like me,» said Miles.

«I didn't like what you were telling me,» said Consus. «I did not wish to believe that my people would - create children like you, give you mind enough for _creativity_ \- and then have the arrogance to try and - _enslave_ you. It was intolerable.»

«It was the truth,» said Miles apologetically.

«Yes. And I saw - I thought I saw - the way you treated your own children: as poorly as we treated you. I didn't realize Cesare is an outlier.»

«Not as far an outlier as I'd prefer,» admitted Miles. «Humans do get better eventually, but it takes a long time.»

«Then that's my price,» said Consus, immediately.

«What?»

«For whatever it is you want me to do,» said Consus. «You must make - the things that man did to _his own son_ \- unthinkable. Criminal.»

«Yes,» said Ezio and Claudia in unison.

«Of course,» added Claudia.

Consus just blinked at her. «What do you want me to do, anyway?»

Miles explained.

«That is not what the Bandage was meant for,» said Consus, when he was done.

«But can it do it?» asked Ezio.

«Hmm,» said Consus, and vanished again.

So that was just peachy.

Meanwhile, May arrived, and Cesare couldn't delay any more so he left for the campaign. Ezio had had enough time to follow Carlotta around and determine that, while life had been hard to her, she was hale and curious and _kind_ : she would do well amongst the assassins. Then he'd sat said assassins down and told them about her situation, her son and daughter-in-law and infant grandson. Vecellio had wanted to go rescue her that minute; but Enu and Maria both counselled a delay, so delay they did until Cesare was a week out of the city and too far to turn back for a day or two before they acted.

They went in at night, over the roofs, Ezio and Enu anchoring the rope ladder so Donati could climb down it and knock on the shutters of the cell until Serena came and opened them.

«Who - who's there?» she asked.

«One who wishes to free you. Carlotta sent us. May I come in?»

Serena stepped back almost involuntarily, and Donati hopped lightly into the room. «How often do the monks check on you? Every two hours of the night?»

«N-no,» said Serena. «They - it's isn't appropriate to watch a woman sleep, and I'm not a nun so I don't need to be roused for prayer! They come if Pietro cries for a long time, to help, but otherwise I'm left to myself until dawn.»

«Good,» said Donati. «With any luck, we can just vanish you in the night. Is there anything here that you particularly want to keep?»

«I - no - »

«Then get Pietro, and we can go,» said Donati.

Serena said, «Go? Go where?»

«To a safe home, initially. And then to Venice.»

« _Venice_?»

Donati shrugged. «Venice always needs more masons, and it doesn't owe allegiance to the pope. You'll be safe there. Well. Safer.»

«The pope - but - _what_?»

Donati took pity. «The pope was the one who arranged your kidnapping. Or maybe Cesare, but he didn't stop it, either. So we have to get you safely away from him.»

«'We' being _assassins_ ,» said Serena, showing for the first time some signs of personality.

«Yes,» said Donati. «You can stay here, if you want. We won't force you. Or you can come with us, and be reunited with your husband. Only you must choose now.»

Serena took a deep breath. «I'll come.»

«Good choice,» said Donati, and helped her wrap Pietro safely in sling before boosting her out the window.

Pietro cooperated by not crying during the entire escape: up to the rooftops, across and down the ladder, a quick change into a simple dress, and then hours and hours of walking by moonlight. By the time morning arrived, she and her husband Francesco were sleeping the exhausted sleep of the well and truly relieved in Enu's home. Enu was temporarily back with Vecellio and Varzi and Giovanni, all of them asleep too. So they got to rescue someone without anything worse happening.

In the morning, they went to go meet with Serena and Francesco and Pietro and Carlotta. The six of them in Enu's one-room rent was actually pretty cramped, even though only Ezio could see him.

«Master Caci. Mrs. Caci. We have arranged passage for you to Venice, if that is where you wish to go; but if you don't, we can find a way for you to go pretty much anywhere else in Italy.»

«Yes, I have heard,» said Francesco, warily. «What I don't understand is why.»

«We don't like the Borgia,» said Ezio. «Or rather, we don't like their insistence that their way is the right way, even when it flies in the face not only of reason, but of the actual Bible they claim to represent. They _kidnapped_ a woman with a baby for the sole purpose of convincing someone to try joining us under false pretences, and betraying us. Presumably they did this because when their men tried joining us under false pretences, we ignored them. We don't believe that kidnapping women, even if your don't covet them for your own wife, is acceptable,» he added, dryly.

«Really?» asked Francesco. «Because I heard that Giovanni - »

«Ah, no,» said Ezio, holding up his hands. «You can't kidnap the willing; and if you had seen the bruises he had when he came to us - Carlotta can confirm it, if you sensibly do not take me at my word. She saw them.»

Francesco looked over at his mother, who nodded. «I shouted at him only until I saw the way that man treated his _child_. And now I am going to help them.»

«Mother, you can't possibly mean to - _become an assassin!_ »

«Why not?» asked Carlotta.

«You're too old - »

«Age doesn't matter, as long as she has a sharp mind,» said Miles.

Ezio repeated him, and gave Carlotta a thin smile. «You need not even kill, if you don't wish to. More than anything, we need wide hearts, and broad minds.»

Serena, who'd watched this in silence, said, «Francesco,» softly.

Francesco said, «What if we do not wish to live in Venice? Where can we go then?»

« . . . there is work dressing stone for the walls of my town,» said Ezio. «But I could not pay you nearly so handsomely as they would in Venice, and the nearest big city to Monteriggioni is Siena.»

«So it is a good place to vanish,» said Francesco. «And a _safe_ one, if it is home to assassins.»

«It isn't really,» said Ezio, almost guiltily. «I don't live there; I visit every couple of years if I'm lucky. And if Cesare does want revenge, it's the first place he will - »

«I have made up my mind,» interrupted Francesco. «It will be a good place for a few years, until your walls are repaired; after that, we'll see.»

« . . . very well,» said Ezio. «This isn't one of the years I will be able to make it out, it looks like; but I believe my mother is planning to go for the summer. Do you wish to go immediately?»

«Yes,» said Serena flatly, before her husband could say a word.

«Very well. We will find a caravan heading that way. You will be out of the city by the end of the week.»

They were, too, heading south with a group of mercenaries found through Bartolomeo's contacts. Carlotta joined them in their warehouse headquarters, and began learning. She _did_ know how to read and write in Latin and in Italian and do math, so they began pushing her hard on the physical side. She winded easily at first, but they did the interval exercises and fed her a lot of white meat and she got better.

She figured out that there was at least one extra person she couldn't see within the first two days, although, granted, they weren't trying to hide it.

«Oh, that's just Miles,» said Donati when asked. «He's a ghost.»

«He's a _what_?»

«He was alive and now he's dead,» said Donati. «What else would you call him?»

«A devil!»

Donati rolled her eyes. «Because devils tell people to _read the Bible_ and _talk_ instead of fighting and make medicine to save people's lives.» She then proceeded to tell Carlotta all about Miles, which at least saved Ezio having to do it.

Finally Carlotta said, «He's been here the whole time?»

«He was the one who went inside the monastery and searched until he found your daughter and grandson,» said Ezio. «I sat on a bench outside and enjoyed the sun. Of course,» he added, almost conspiratorially, «he's also the one who invented this _interval training_ \- »

«I did not!»

« - we're torturing you with. And now he's protesting he didn't.»

«I didn't invent it! This is just how I was trained, and it works for when you need to get someone to build a lot of muscle very quickly.»

«Oh. He learned this way, and taught it to us.»

«That's some comfort,» said Carlotta, dryly.

«You get used to it,» said Varzi, shrugging. «He's odd even aside from being dead, but if you need advice, Miles is a good person to ask. And a good opponent for rithmomachy, if you like it.»

«Mm,» said Carlotta. It was clear she wasn't going to take them at their word, but Miles preferred a person who took the time to get to know other people before making a decision, so that was fine. «What next?»

«You know Latin?»

«Yes,» said Carlotta.

«Good. You can help teach the rest of us.»

«Joy,» said Carlotta.

She cottoned on to Consus a couple weeks later, but by then she'd helped Giovanni write letters to Lucrezia and knew that he was a cheerful soul who was certainly not being _harmed_ by his strange family circumstance. She had also, it must be said, asked many questions about Miles, and then many more questions to Miles. He'd attempted to answer honestly.

«So is Consus like Miles?» she asked, watching Claudia and Giovanni at their French lesson. «A dead assassin?»

«No,» said Miles. «He's much older than templars or assassins. He's on our side, more or less, but he doesn't care much for our methods. He is a doctor, after all.»

«A doctor,» said Carlotta, flatly.

«Mm,» said Miles. «Lucrezia didn't eat enough leafy greens when she was pregnant, so Giovanni's spine wasn't completely closed when he was born.»

Ezio repeated this, and then added, «What do leafy greens have to do with malformed children?»

Miles sighed, but this was one of the things that wouldn't matter, now they had Consus. «Mothers have to build bodies for new people, right? Out of their own flesh?»

«Yes,» said Ezio.

«And if they have everything they need to build the baby, that's fine. But if they _don't_ , then the baby doesn't get what it needs and the body isn't complete. Most of the time they just lose the baby, but Lucrezia wasn't malnourished. She just . . . didn't have the right things to build a complete baby, and she wasn't eating the foods that _had_ those things so she could get them.»

«Foods like leafy greens,» said Ezio.

Miles shrugged. «People here eat too much meat if they're rich, and too much bread if they're not. No one eats enough fruits and vegetables.»

«Fascinating,» said Ezio drly, and turned back to Carlotta. «Consus saved Giovanni's life.»

«But - I've seen his spine! He's a normal little boy!»

«Yes,» said Miles. «Consus repaired his spine, and saved his life.»

«We are all very grateful,» added Ezio.

«Well,» allowed Carlotta. «You do love him like family.»

«He is family,» said Ezio.

«I think I want to learn French,» said Carlotta, and after that she joined Claudia and Giovanni for French lessons. Carlotta wasn't physically strong, but she had a mind like a steel trap. She didn't learn quickly, like Claudia and Giovanni and Ezio, but once she learned, she knew and would never forget. Ezio told Bin Dovid to teach her Hebrew and Greek and the Arabic of Constantinople, and he quizzed her while they ran the sky's road across the city.

By the end of May, she was shaping up to be their best spy, because no one ever minded an old woman in places, cleaning things. Most people never even noticed, and if they did, well, there were always widows working for a few coins at the end of the day. Carlotta's ears remained as sharp as ever, so she was the first of them to hear the rumors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giovanni had spino bifida (please don't Google if you have a weak stomach), which can be caused, among other things, by a lack of folic acid in the mother's diet during pregnancy. In modern times, most pregnant women are automatically put on folate supplements. During the Renaissance, the rich ate mostly meat, which is not a super healthy diet at the best of times and certainly does not contain enough folate for a baby. It is known that Lucrezia Borgia, later the Duchess de Ferrara, had numerous failed pregnancies and eventually died of complications from childbirth. Was lack of dietary folate the cause? Probably not, but it is at least plausible.
> 
> In real life, my friend Miri just had her first baby. She is a massive 9 lbs and the kind of red and squished-looking of all new babies, but otherwise all around a success. Congratulations! (I should finish the baby blanket I am making . . . c.c)
> 
> As a heads-up, this is probably the penultimate chapter. The not-very-exciting climax is next, and then a short epilogue. And Now You Know.


	10. Endings and Beginnings, Redux

«He's planning another one of his parties,» said Carlotta. «You know.»

They all did. None of them liked it, but they all expected it, except for Miles. Miles had grown up in a country and a time where using public funds for private parties wasn't just going to get you kicked out of office, it was going to get you kicked into jail. That wasn't how things worked in the Renaissance, where a noblewoman could freely murder her own subjects without repercussion.

«Yes,» said Claudia.

«We aren't going to sneak you in as a guard, and we aren't going to get you in as a guest, and no one would ever suspect you of being a servant; but I've seen how you are with horses. We can pretend you are a groom.»

«Ah,» said Ezio.

It only took Claudia and Carlotta a couple of weeks between them to decide on a stable, which Ezio then went to work for every day for a month, like he was a normal stablehand, mucking out stalls and curry-combing the horses. They could all tell that Miles was there, of course, but as long as he didn't try to get near them they were content to placidly eat their oats and hay.

During this time, they got a totally unexpected letter from, of all people, Lucrezia Borgia. The messenger came up to Bin Dovid while he was on patrol and announced that he had a letter for the assassin Auditore, and could he deliver it? They were all suspicious that the letter was going to be poison, so they had Consus check, but it was really just a letter in which Lucrezia expressed that she was -

She wasn't _happy_ that they'd stolen her son, but she was . . . grateful, that he was being protected by some of the most dangerous men and women in Italy. And she wanted to apologize personally to Signora Carlotta Caci, because the Templars stood for peace and security, not for holding innocent women and their infants hostage. She'd enclosed a letter for Giovanni, too, if they would let him have it.

«Mm,» said Ezio, reading it.

«Like I said,» said Miles. «I think we can flip her. Those children, the ones that were sold in Constantinople and Ubaldi rescued - »

«As long as she does not already know. But she won't listen to the ones we apprenticed.»

«The others, who went home to their families,» said Ezio.

«Yes,» said Claudia. «Vitelli, Vitelli, Santi, I'll need your help on this.»

Her letter for Giovanni was nothing more than the writing of a mother who did, after all, love her son, and wanted him to be happy. Giovanni was happy to read it, and he ran off immediately to write another one in response.

It had to be the most awkward correspondence in the history of letters. After the second response Ezio had to take a day off from the horses to follow the backtrace and find that Lucrezia gave it to her maid, who gave it to a scullery girl, who gave it to her brother, and he paid the runner to find an assassin, all so Cesare wouldn't find out. They had much less trouble, of course: they slipped the letter in with the other correspondence going to the Vatican, and no one thought it odd when Lucrezia Borgia got an unmarked letter from one of her agents. But it made Giovanni happy, and even Enu agreed that it was a good thing for a son and mother to love each other, so they kept sending the letters.

Vecellio and Varzi and Enu took off for an abbreviated summer tour of Italy, in which, they poisoned, stole, and assassinated their way through the French supply lines. Giovanni sulked about it for a week before Santi took him out for a day and he came back glowing with tales of their exploits amongst the thieves. They planned to meet up with Bartolomeo on the way back. Miles said, «Keep some of the French chevaliers' armor. Just in case.»

«I really do have to wonder how dead people see things,» said Enu.

Then it was summer in Rome again, hot Mediterranean sun baking everything, but for the first time in a thousand years, there was an aqueduct bringing fresh water into the city. The Capitoline district, which was served by said aqueduct, had summer fevers, but there wasn't a summer _outbreak_. It got the point that other people would walk an hour to get water from the fountains supplied by the aqueduct, because it was "healthful". Claudia had to hire guards to enforce orderly lines, in which the rich had to wait like any other person.

«I didn't believe it,» she admitted, watching a water-carrier refill her buckets for the fourth time that day. «A city free of plague . . . »

«The next thing to do is convince people to stop putting their shit in the river,» said Miles.

«Where do they put it, instead?»

«Where do we put the muck from stables?» asked Miles. «We send a cart around every day. Two carts: one for solids and one for liquids, and the price of using either is using both. They use it in tanning, don't they?»

«In many things,» said Claudia.

They tried it in the Tiber district. She had to bribe city heralds to explain the carts, but when the first of them went around a week later, people did use them. Why empty the chamberpot out the window in the morning, when the wagon would come and take it later, and not just out of the house but away? The Vatican issued some proclamation about how "agents of the devil" wanted to use it for "unclean purposes," but that didn't get much traction because it wasn't like it was a secret where the wagons went: the urine _did_ go to the tanners and the dyers and the laundrywomen, and they took the rest to the big piles of muck that composted constantly miles outside the city and went on the fields before being tilled under in the autumn.

The animal smell didn't lessen any, or that of unwashed human, but the improvement was so extreme that they got an unexpected ally when the _doctors_ all came down on their side, because everyone knew that bad smells spread disease, and weren't the people in the Tiber district doing remarkably against disease well this year? Then nobles and rich merchants in other parts of the city started sending out their own wagons completely unprompted, because there was an awful lot of money to be made in that urine and an awful lot of extra food that could be grown in well-mucked fields. 

Miles and Claudia both counted it as a victory when the Vatican bowed to the inevitable and proposed a new tax on the sale of urine, and the nobility objected and negotiated it down. It still cut into the profits a bit, but not enough to make it _un_ profitable. So that was another hundred people employed, wagon-drivers and holsters and stablehands and muckrakers who emptied the wagons onto the compost piles, and those were jobs that weren't going to go away when the aqueducts were finished. In the meantime, the city enjoyed the least deadly summer in living memory.

Plans continued to congeal, theirs and Juan Borgia's both. The whole city was talking of the party all through June, and looking forward to the public part of the festivities. Ezio wasn't, not really. He liked parties only when he wasn't working.

The evening of the 31st, senator Egidio Troche was picked up at his home by the carriage he'd contracted for the event, and proceeded along to the party. He was dropped off at the entrance to the private section of the party, and the carriage went around to park with all the others. After the grooms got the horses watered and fed, they were allowed entrance into the public areas. For the most part they went straight for the wine or the women before dispersing into the crows of people. Ezio slipped sideways into a shadow, stripped off his livery to reveal the party finery below, and was in.

Miles immediately climbed the nearest bit of crumbling architecture, got eyes high to look out for anything unusual. But there wasn't anything unusual, not then or for hours. Ezio spent the time circulating in the crowd, posing as a merchant rich enough to have rated an invite, which wasn't even entirely a lie. He spoke a little of his business interests, which were shipping and, locally, clay pits that were doing extremely well since the Assassin - and here he hushed his voice, looking over his shoulder as though speaking of him would summon the man - had decided to repair the old aqueducts. He spoke of art, and how he would have liked to have been an artist himself, maybe, if things had been different. He spoke of philosophy, platonic and aristotelian ideals. A number of women were introduced to him, which Miles found hilarious because they were the sort of witty, charming women that Ezio otherwise liked. Everyone ate and drank and had a decent enough time until Cesare came out.

Cesare gave a grand speech about his plans for Italy, and introduced his compatriots: Baron Octavian de Valois, commander of the French forces in Italy; his own father who needed no introduction, Pope Alexander VI; his sister, the Duchess of Ferrara, Lucrezia Borgia; and of course their host, the Cardinale Juan Borgia. He spoke a little of the glories of the Roman Empire, stretching from one end of the world to the other. He spoke of the sadly diminished Italy of the present, broken into squabbling city-states. He spoke of his vision for the future, of Italy reunited and rising to conquer a new empire, more glorious than the first because it would have the light of Christ to guide it. Then he begged them to please enjoy the party out here. The pope, Cesare, Lucrezia, and Baron de Valois went inside to enjoy a more private celebration. Juan Borgia, as the host, began to circulate.

«Wait until he's gone all the way around,» Miles shouted down to Ezio. He saw Ezio nod in agreement, so they too went back to circulating. There was a particularly hilarious bit, when Juan Borgia had gone about three-quarters of the way around, where he and Ezio were in the same cluster. They had a pleasant conversation about their mutual admiration for the work of Leonardo da Vinci. He clearly didn't recognize Ezio at all, and gracefully excused himself to his duty as host.

Ezio motioned for Miles to come down, so he took a leap of faith into one of the pools. «It seems almost a shame to kill him. He's fat and useless, but he's not . . . »

«He doesn't really _believe_ in templars, I think,» said Miles. «Not in their grand plan to remove the evils of free will. But he is still embezzling public funds to throw this party instead of, for example, feeding the hungry and clothing the poor.»

«Hmm,» said Ezio, and watched the cardinale's progress around the party. When he'd finished going around, he pulled one of the courtesans to his fat body. They were Claudia's flowers, from the Rosa; the girls at the Rosa were reliably clean of syphilis or pox, and were therefore popular for this sort of thing. He caught the attention of one of them, and tipped his mug up to drain it to the dregs. She got the message, and turned to press spiced wine on Juan Borgia.

This went on for another hour or so, while different people came to pay homage to Juan Borgia in his little court, and he ate the fine food and drank the wine the courtesans pressed on him. He had a tremendous capacity for alcohol, but even so, as the evening wore on he began to show signs of drunkenness. He wasn't a mean drunk, or even a loud one; instead, he got quieter and his motions more deliberate, enunciating his words the way some people did.

Miles caught Ezio's eye.

The actual assassination was simple, with the man so drunk. Ezio used one of his poisoned needles, a slower poison that was Varzi's work, and Juan Borgia didn't even stir when pricked. He was clearly mostly gone already, and began snoring shortly thereafter. Ezio turned to leave with a knot of partygoers who took it as a sign to go home.

The next morning, the whole city was talking about Juan Borgia's death. No seemed to suspect it even was an assassination. Instead, the fat cardinale had gotten so drunk that'd choked to death on his own spit.

«Good,» said Claudia. «We don't need the templars to have that reason to hate us as well. We only need the Banker gone. He is, the Jews aren't stupid enough to bank for Cesare and the pope isn't going to lend him any money. A rousing success.»

Indeed it was, and it took hardly any time at all for the effects to become apparent. The French forces under the Baron de Valois had never really been loved by the people of Rome or Italy. Now Cesare had the decision to pay his condottieri or the French soldiers, and he'd chosen the condottieri. There were some rumors that the Baron de Valois was thinking about abandoning the alliance; had already sent a message to his king announcing that, as Cesare had not upheld his part in their alliance, they had legal grounds to do so.

«So that will free up Bartolomeo's forces to go against Cesare's loyal men,» said Giovanni.

Carlotta looked down at him. «How do you know that?»

«It's obvious,» said Giovanni. «Ezio, was mother all right?»

«She did not look ill, but I did not see her for long. She is married to the Duke of Ferrara now, you know.»

«I know,» said Giovanni. «Zio Cesare hates . . . »

«Cesare Borgia demands love, because he has no idea how to earn it,» said Consus. «He has no idea how to be worthy of it.»

«It's not entirely his fault,» said Ezio wearily. «Cesare Borgia was troublesome for his mother and a tool for his father. How was he to learn love?»

«You will put a stop to that sort of treatment of _children_ ,» said Consus, then sighed. «But it is not your fault. You learned such behavior from us.»

«Is it possible that sometimes people are just bad parents?» said Claudia.

Consus looked unhappy, but not because it wasn't true; because it was. «I have come to a decision,» he said. «I would like to use the Apple to create a new body for myself, once Miles' is complete.»

«I'm not sure that's going to work,» said Miles. «I'm having it calculate the way my body was when I died, but I was young and healthy. You'll have to make it calculate the way your body was - decades _before_ you died, and I'm not sure the - »

«Yes, I know,» said Consus. «But the worst that can happen is that it won't work, and my situation won't be changed from what it is now.»

Miles caught Claudia's eye.

«What will you do, with a body of your own?» she asked.

«Certainly not abandon my friend Giovanni here! I would do what I should have done, in life, and found a great school of medicine.»

«What are they saying?» asked Carlotta.

«Negotiating,» said Claudia. «I will give you the Apple myself, even if Miles won't. For a school of medicine such as yours, I would do a great deal more.»

«You'll have to,» said Miles. «The tools he's going to need to build the tools he'll need to convince people of germ theory . . . it's going to cost a lot.»

«What else is new?» asked Claudia.

«Good to have that figured out, then,» said Ezio. «So: Bartolomeo against Cesare's condottieri when the alliance with France fails. That's going to be some ugly fighting. Is there something we can do?»

«I don't think so,» said Miles. «Not unless we decide to become monsters and deliberately give them plague just ahead of the battle. Which, for the record, we are not.»

«No,» agreed Ezio, and sighed. «Well. We have done what we can do. Now we trust our allies.»

Their allies did a remarkable job. Baron Valois made increasingly obvious remarks about gold, until he shut up entirely about a fortnight later. The French forces began the march to the port town even before the official announcement, but no one in the city was surprised by then. Rumor was that the pope himself had gone to the ambassador and wished him safe travels: as close as he'd ever get to blessing the breaking of his son's alliance. It was good news, of course, the last in a line of dominos, falling towards the Borgias' inevitable defeat.

 

Miles was tense. When his plans had started going to pieces, Cesare had gone after the Apple his father held. Here, now, Pope Alexander IV didn't have the Apple, but all indications were that Cesare was, if anything, _less_ stable. He was going to do something stupid; the only question was what. So Miles was tense, and Ezio knew even if he didn't know why, and was tense too.

And then . . .

Most people in the city knew that if they walked up to a patrolling assassin and told them where the Borgia guards were harassing people, they'd go stop it. If they asked for something else, like finding a lost child or running a message across the city, it varied. The assassin-apprentices, as the cousins Vitelli and Santi were known, almost always would, and others almost always wouldn't. If asked for something stupid, they'd just ignore the request.

A woman in distress - even a noblewoman - especially _this_ noblewoman - was not something the assassins could ignore. Neither were they stupid enough to trust Lucrezia Borgia with their secrets, however, so Bin Dovid had taken her to a bank in the Jewish quarter. Lucrezia had calmed down a little, but she wouldn't speak to anyone but Ezio. Did Ezio want to talk to her?

«I think we'd better,» said Miles, while Ezio thanked Santi. «Maybe bring Giovanni too.»

«Mm. What if she wants to take him away again?»

«You think he'll allow himself to be taken?» Four months of being the assassins' collective child had, after all, given him some muscles and the ability to throw a decent punch. «You think Consus would go?»

So Ezio told Santi to go collect Giovanni, while he headed towards the Jewish quarter. He didn't patrol often there, because Bin Dovid was a much better liaison with his own people. He enforced rigid impartiality in the assassins, however, and the Jews knew they could ask the assassins for help as much as anyone else in Rome. They had to hope it would be enough.

When they arrived, Lucrezia was seated in a huge plush chair near the hearth in someone's office, staring at the fire. There were a couple of women in the couch on the other side of the room, obviously watching her and talking quietly amongst themselves. Lucrezia looked . . . she didn't look well. She looked up when Ezio's shadow fell on him, but then looked back at the women.

«My father always says that we must be kind to Jews, as one is kind to an abused animal, because our people have so abused theirs that they are afraid of the light of Christ,» said Lucrezia.

«That's possible,» replied Ezio. «I myself find it more likely that they see the things men do in the name of Christ, and have decided they want none of it. Madonna Borgia - »

«De Ferrara, please,» said Lucrezia. «My father is dead, or as good as. Cesare poisoned him this afternoon, and he won't live to see sunrise without . . . »

« - ah,» said Ezio.

«No, you don't understand,» said Lucrezia, looking up at him, earnest. «I don't wish you to save him. As pope, he is corrupt; as a father, pitiful; as a man - I don't wish to imagine what judgement he will face, soon.»

Ezio said, «Then . . . I do not understand, Madonna. Why are you here?»

«Because he made a last request, and it is not a request I can fulfill. You can.»

«And?»

Lucrezia swallowed, and looked back to the fire. «And I think that no matter how much it hurts him, he must know the truth now, before he dies. That he was wrong, that the templars _are_ wrong, and that . . . that he shouldn't have done what he did.» She swallowed again, blue glow never even flickering. «I don't expect you to believe me - »

«I believe you,» said Ezio. «But I still do not understand. What do you want me to do?»

«He is obsessed with - he wishes to know what was in the Vault.»

«Vault,» repeated Ezio, carefully shaping the word in his mouth. «No, Lucrezia; it is no vault, holding ancient treasure for those bold enough to grasp it. It is a tomb.»

Lucrezia gasped.

«And of course, living as they did well before the light of Christ shone on the world, they laid their dead to rest with ceremonies and augurs and spells. There was - an icon, I suppose, if you can imagine a speaking statue icon - but she was not really a person, and she did not speak to me. She had a message she needed delivered. She is gone now. It's just a room full of ancient corpses.»

«What was the message?» asked Lucrezia.

«Still trying to be the Prophet, mm?» he asked. «She warned that the sun is going to burn the Earth.»

«Unless people repent,» said Lucrezia, brightly.

«No. The sun is going to burn the Earth, regardless of what people do,» said Ezio. « _We_ don't really matter. You might as well try to hold back the tide, or push back the wind. Repentance will do nothing.» Lucrezia gasped. «The sun is going to scorch the Earth down to rock and then melt the rock as well, and there is nothing we can do. The message was to tell someone who can do something that something needs to be done.»

«Oh. This person - will they do it?»

Ezio shrugged. «I don't know. They haven't been born yet. The best we can do is to make a world worth saving. You, your father and brother and all who _sell_ salvation, as though money can buy a place in heaven - certainly aren't helping.»

Lucrezia, wisely, kept her mouth shut.

«So you can go back and tell your father there was never any message of hope or salvation, and if there were he was never worthy of it. You can tell him he was, instead, trying to rob a mausoleum: the kind filled only with ossuaries and heartfelt mourning, no gold or silver or other finery. You can, assuming I let you go.»

Lucrezia's head came up sharply. «You wouldn't _dare_ \- »

«Hold the Duchess of Ferrara for ransom?» asked Ezio. «Hold an enemy of my house captive?»

«What happened to your family - I had not yet been born!»

«And were you also not yet born when your brother murdered my uncle?»

«He should have given us the Apple!»

«He didn't _have_ the Apple to give you,» said Ezio. «So really what you did was kill an old man lying in the dust at your feet.» Lucrezia opened her mouth. «Or at the very least stand by while your brother did.» Lucrezia closed her mouth again. «I think we will wait here, and - have you eaten yet? No, of course not. We'll get you some, and then you will present your case to my brotherhood, and after we will find a bed somewhere for you while we decide what to do with you. You may rest assured that we will certainly not kill you, though, not an unarmed woman who has come seeking aide. We are not, after all, _templars_.»

Lucrezia looked back at the fire and said, «I was offered food. I did not - you hear tales - »

« _Lies_ ,» said Miles.

«Of secret rituals held in underground caverns where men make deals with forces unseen for power unearned?» asked Ezio. «I believe you are confused: Jews don't do that.» Unspoken: templars _do_. «I, personally, have read the Old Testament and know that one thing you will never find in Jewish food is blood. It's perfectly safe. We can eat while we decide what to do. Unless you planned to go back to the Castello tonight?»

«Not this night or any other!»

«Then there are plans to make,» said Ezio.

« . . . you are really nothing at all like I thought you would be,» said Lucrezia. «Your words cut more deeply than any sword.»

«Not enough,» said Ezio, «or I'd never have to use my sword.»

It was a busy night. Bin Dovid negotiated a house and food for them for the night, and he and Lucrezia and Ezio walked over. Then Ezio attempted to get a small fire going in the hearth, just enough to keep food hot, and failed miserably at it until Lucrezia tied back her sleeves and shoved him out of the way and did it herself. By the time the fire was a decent enough size, the food had arrived. Ezio made a small grace, which plainly surprised Lucrezia, but instead of saying anything she just looked thoughtful.

Giovanni arrived only moments after that, and Vecellio and Varzi. Ezio sent Varzi straight off again, to find Machiavelli and la Volpe and Claudia and bring them all in. Lucrezia recognized Vecellio, though, and said, «You! You're Calderon's apprentice!»

«Er.» Vecellio held up his hands. «Guilty as charged?»

«It's okay,» said Giovanni, and Lucrezia suddenly had no time or attention for anyone else as she swept her son into a tight hug.

«My boy, my boy,» she said.

«It really is,» said Giovanni, and then, a little shyly, «Mother.»

Lucrezia pulled back enough to see his face. «Yes. And you are my son. Are you hungry? What am I saying, every boy ever was always hungry. Come, there is food.»

«I'm not,» said Giovanni. «Brother fed me before we came.»

«Brother?»

«Calderon was my father, by choice if not by blood,» said Vecellio. «Therefore Giovanni is my brother.»

«He's been taking care of me!»

«Let me take a look at you,» said Lucrezia, so Giovanni stood up straight. He'd shot up over the summer, food and kindness doing what no number of beatings could, and even Lucrezia would be hard-pressed to say that the assassins were not taking _good_ care of her son. «God tells us that the elder brother _should_ care for the younger,» she said. «I am . . . glad. Will you tell me how he fares at lessons?»

«Some of them,» said Vecellio. «He speaks better Latin than me, and knows more of math!»

They'd more or less gotten over the awkwardness by the time Claudia arrived with a Machiavelli who was complaining about having to sneak in through the sewers now the gates were closed, and la Volpe who was gently ribbing him about his inability to climb. They all stopped when they came in and saw who was talking to Vecellio. Lucrezia looked up, and then hurriedly stood.

«She's no longer a Templar, and she had thrown herself on our mercy,» said Miles, quickly. «So be merciful, Claudia. You can afford it, now. We won.»

«I - » said Lucrezia.

« _Mercy_?» demanded Claudia «For _her_?»

«Her brother has murdered her father,» said Ezio. «She came here to beg a dying man's last request. Sister, I know you bear her no love, but she - is not our enemy.»

Claudia's eyes flicked to Lucrezia, and finding no hint of the red of malice, back to him. «Very well. Tell.»

Lucrezia told them what had happened, what she'd tell her father, if they let her. It wasn't much. Machiavelli immediately began writing letters, for la Volpe's people to take to pigeon coops around the city. Bartolomeo had to know by tomorrow that Cesare no longer had papal backing, and was on killing ground. That was straightforward enough, if not simple.

Claudia, meanwhile, began bargaining. Lucrezia clearly didn't expect to be asked to give up Templar secrets, but was willing enough. In fact she didn't know many; among other Templar faults, they believed women to be stupid and flighty and had not told her much. She, in turn, only wanted to go live with her husband in Ferrara, and maybe visit her son here in Rome every so often. She made that her bottom line, and when they reached an impasse, announced that it had been an exhausting day and she would like to sleep before anything else, gracefully excusing herself so they could get on with the business of judging her.

As soon as she was out of the room, Claudia turned to Miles and said, «Well?»

Miles, who had been watching the whole thing mostly without comment except for when he could make it difficult for Claudia not to smile by making a joke, thought privately that Claudia and Lucrezia might have been friends in another life if things had been different. He couldn't say that to her, so instead he said, «She believed in the templar cause, harmony through tyranny and all that. Now she has seen it doesn't work. I think . . . I think she doesn't know what to believe, since her creed is wrong and she doesn't know a better one. She won't fight us. She really does just want to rest for a while.»

Claudia frowned as she finished repeating the words, and added, «That is hard. I liked it better when I could pretend she was just . . . that she didn't care. But she does.»

Machiavelli said, «I concur; that, however, may only make her a more dangerous enemy. After she has rested, what will she do?»

«I depends on us,» said Ezio. «I doubt she will be our enemy, if we are not hers.»

«Mm,» said Machiavelli. «It is a great risk, letting her go.»

«So you would orphan a child?» asked Ezio.

Machiavelli turned to Claudia and said, «And you?»

«I would like to talk to her more, actually,» said Claudia. «If right now she has no creed, then now is the time for persuasion. And she will not trust you, Machiavelli, if she sees you.»

Machiavelli stared. «You want to _recruit_ her?»

«I want to talk to her,» said Claudia firmly.

La Volpe finally broke his silence to say, «And what do our ghosts believe we should do?»

Consus said, «She is not less a monster than I, and you have welcomed me.»

«Killing her won't bring anybody back,» said Miles.

«Mm. And Cesare?»

Miles bared his teeth, and Claudia laughed. «All right, how about this: we will help Lucrezia, and in return she will give us help against Cesare and the entire Templar order.»

«At this point his final defeat is just a matter of time,» pointed out Consus.

«And how many people must die between now and then?» asked Miles. «Let's make it fast.»

«Agreed,» said Machiavelli.

Claudia was the one who went to fetch Lucrezia; wake her, as it turned out. Miles hadn't expected her to be asleep, but she was, fully-clothed on the four-poster bed. Well. It _had_ been a long day, and wasn't yet over. Lucrezia sat up and said, «So?»

«So, my wise brother has decided that we should help you, if for no other reason that that you will owe us a favor, and my idiot brother has decided to come along,» she said. «Get up. We have a carriage.»

«You don't have two brothers,» said Lucrezia, sounding more baffled than angry. Not two living brothers.

«I have many brothers,» said Claudia. «We assassins are a brotherhood, after all.»

«Oh,» said Lucrezia, standing.

Claudia went around behind her, tugging her skirts so they wouldn't be rumpled and would lie properly. «There,» she said. «It will have to do. I have a comb, if you want that.»

Lucrezia shook her head. «Where is this carriage?»

The carriage was downstairs, along with an Ezio who was currently dressed as a groom. «Cute,» said Lucrezia.

«Will your father be at the Castello, or the Vatican?» asked Ezio.

« . . . the Vatican,» said Lucrezia. «But the Vault - the tomb? - won't open with just the papal staff. He's tried!»

«It won't open for anyone with the wrong blood,» said Miles. Ezio hummed. Lucrezia huffed, then swept up into the carriage, where Claudia was already settled. It was a pretty quiet ride.

At least it was until Lucrezia said, uncharacteristically hesitant, «Will you tell me about him? Your wise brother?»

Clauda glanced over at him, and he shrugged. It wasn't like Lucrezia could do anything to him, after all. «He's a good man,» said Claudia. «He - doesn't look out on the world and see war and poverty and famine and disease as the lot God meted out to man; he sees them as _problems to be solved_. Not divinely solved, I mean, but by building aqueducts for clean water and collecting shit for the fields. When one of the - I shouldn't say younger, exactly, but newer - assassins was having a crisis about the Jews, he told her to _read the bible_! And he's - you talk about being humble, but you never really know what it means until you're with a man whose lost as much as he has, and is still just happy to see you smile.»

«Are we still talking about your wise brother?»

Claudia rolled her eyes. «My idiot brother didn't lose me, or mother. My wise brother lost _everyone_.»

«You love him,» said Lucrezia, softly. And, «I wish I could love my family that way.»

«You wish your family were worthy of it,» said Claudia, always perceptive.

Lucrezia sighed. «Is it something you can learn, do you think? Worthiness?»

«If you want to,» said Claudia. «I doubt Cesare does.»

«It's hard,» said Lucrezia. «He does love me, you know.»

«Like he loves his horse or his hunting dogs or his hawks, maybe,» said Claudia. «Does he even know _you_?»

Lucrezia didn't answer.

They stopped for a while outside, so Miles could go in and check out if it was a trap. There weren't more papal guards around than usual; in fact there seemed to be fewer. He snooped around a bit just to make sure, and heard one mentioning to the other that they always knew Cesare was nuts and it's good to finally be able to throw the bastard in the Castello dungeons where he belongs.

« - aiting for?» Luzcrezia was asking when he returned.

«All clear, and a bit of good news: Cesare's been arrested,» Miles reported, so they proceed inward.

A guard did come out to challenge them, but Lucrezia poked her head out and said, «I've come to see my father,» and they were waved in.

«Cesare's been arrested,» said Claudia. «Apparently your father isn't too poisoned to give orders.»

«My father will not stop giving orders until he's dead,» said Lucrezia dryly. «Come. He will be in the sanctum, attempting to find a way into the Va - the Tomb.»

So they let her take the lead for a while, and it was not too long before they got to the chamber where, yes, Pope Alexander VI was directing workmen, who were blunting chisels and sledgehammers on the impassable concrete of the Isu. He himself was sitting in a chair, wheezing heavily.

«Father,» said Lucrezia, more a gasp than an introduction, but he looked up - and caught sight of Ezio.

«Assassin . . . ?» he asked, and it looked for a moment like he was going to order someone to attack before he said, «You're too late. I'm already dying.»

«I know,» said Ezio.

«Over here,» said Miles. The chamber was, it turned out, _much_ more interesting if you could see Isu programming. **_Open_** , he commanded it, and the structure began falling away into a set of stairs, startling the workmen and drawing a gasp even from the pope.

«It was you,» he said, wondering. «All along, I needed _you_.»

«Not I,» said Ezio. «You needed the spirit in the Apple, like Consus is the spirit in the Shroud.»

«The Apple? Here?»

«No,» said Ezio. «But the spirit is.»

«The spirit is getting impatient, actually,» said Miles.

Ezio smiled softly. «He wants us to go down there.»

«Why?»

Ezio shrugged. «Who knows?»

They descended the stairs, Ezio and Claudia and Lucrezia, and the pope being carried in his chair. Miles had to force the door at the bottom, too; the projection room did _not_ want to be open again. Almost as soon as they were inside, he stopped and it closed, sealing them all in total darkness.

The workmen shouted. Ezio, only slightly concerned, asked, «Miles?»

«It's fine, I can open it again, but it has to be dark to see the show. Give me a moment, I'll figure out how to replay it.»

«Who's there?» asked Alexander.

«You can hear me?» asked Miles, trying to figure out which of the semitanslucent blue glyphs he needed to use to activate the recording.

«Obviously,» said Alexander.

«Huh. Interesting; you've never been able to hear or see me before. Okay, I think I've got it. Here we go,» he said, just as Minerva began saying, «We must speak.»

Watching the recording without Ezio saying his half of the lines at right times was a bit disturbing. Before, it had been possible to see it as a conversation, but now it became obvious that it wasn't. Minvera responded to things Ezio hadn't said, and didn't respond to Lucrezia or Alexander or either of the guards. But even they fell silent at about the time the holos of the first Flare began playing. Finally, Minerva called on Desmond to save the world, and vanished.

«Desmond? Who is Desmond?» asked Alexander, finally, and with great difficulty. Even his enmity seemed to be uncertain, weakly flickering red-purple. «Can he stop that? Can he save the world?»

« _Now_ you want to save people?» asked Claudia, sharply.

« . . . I deserved that,» admitted Alexander. «But - I live here too.»

«Not for much longer,» said Ezio.

«No. Not for much longer.» Alexander paused, took another labored breath, deep royal blue. «But still. You will see to it that Desmond gets the message? That he does whatever it takes to - prevent _that_.»

«I will not force another to bend to my will, Rodrigo. That was the mistake of those false gods, and also your mistake and that of your Order. If Desmond deems the world not worth saving, then he will not. All we can do is make it worthy.»

«There was never any power in here, was there?» asked Alexander. «There was just a burden, a task that will span centuries and continents. I suppose I must trust it to you; my own people won't even spend time mourning my death.» His voice was weaker when he spoke again, and blue but almost gone. «I have no right to ask, but - will you administer last rites?»

«Father!»

«Ah, Lucrezia. I had hoped . . . but I'm just an old man, after all. Go, daughter. Live well. Be happy. Know that I did love you.» His light winked out.

"Requiescat in pace," said Ezio immediately.

Lucrezia gasped again, but when she spoke, her voice was extremely level. «Spirit. I would take it as a personal kindness if you would look kindly upon my father and guide his soul to - »

«I can't,» said Miles. «I've been asked this before, and I don't remember anything between dying and waking up in here. I can't lead anyone anywhere. I don't know the way.» He paused, then added, «But he wasn't all bad. A man whose last words are to tell his daughter he loved her? He did not live his life well, but he knew what was important, in the end. Remember that. I'll - I'll get the door open.»

The guards both turned to check Alexander's body immediately, as though Ezio would have stabbed a man already dying or poison. Lucrezia said, «Madonna Auditore. Was that - your wise brother?»

«He's a good man,» said Claudia.

Lucrezia stood up. «Right. The assassin didn't kill my father; it was my brother Cesare. Let's lead them out, and then there must be a Conclave and a trial. Will you testify as to the truth?»

The guards hesitated before one said, «Not a mark on him, and he was dying when we went down there. I'll testify it was poison.»

«Good,» said Lucrezia.

They got back to headquarters just before dawn, Ezio and Claudia and Miles. Ezio stripped his armor and let it on the floor where it fell before crawling into bed. Finally he said, «Did you mean that?»

Miles took a moment. «No man is ever all good or all bad. He was a terrible person, but he did, for example, protect the Jews. They're going to have a rough time of it, with the next pope.»

«No,» decided Ezio quietly. «No they are not.»

«He loved his daughter. It doesn't - you can't weigh lives like that, like saving one makes up for murdering another. He'd dead; Cesare lost; it's done.»

«It's done,» said Ezio, and sighed. «What are we supposed to do now?»

«Keep the promise we made to Consus,» suggested Miles. «Or maybe finish the duty entrusted to us by Alexander, do what the Church ought to have been doing all this time instead of worrying about temporal power. It's the same thing, really, and we've already been doing it.»

«All right,» said Ezio. «I'll be a surgeon. I want to learn to use a blade to heal instead of harm. You can start teaching me in the morning.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucrezia is referring to the idea of "blood libel": Medieval Christians belived that Jews went around kidnapping and murdering Christian children so they could use their blood in preparing food for secret evil rituals. Preventing "blood libel" was regarded as a good excuse to go murder all the local Jews and steal their stuff, hence the regular pogroms in Eastern Europe, and in Western Europe local lords regularly kicking the Jews out after stealing all their stuff. (Hint: telling lies about people so you can justify treating them terribly isn't clever. It just makes you an asshole.) The actual Torah, meanwhile, prohibits both murder and the consumption of blood in any form, which is more than the New Testament does. Blood sausages, anyone?
> 
> Epilogue next week, and then I think I'm done with this universe for a while.
> 
> I finished a blanket! I gave it to a baby! Also a hat. I think in the short run the baby might prefer the hat. The blanket is a bit too big for her, but she'll grow :3


	11. Many Journeys

Lucrezia went to the White Knife, the free hospital that the assassins ran in Rome. It was more like free _hospitals_ : instead of one building, they had dozens of smaller ones, so that no one was more than a twenty-minute walk from medical care. And, despite how _weird_ assassin medicine was, it was also remarkably effective. People who went to White Knives came out alive, for the most part, even when the thing they'd gone in for was smallpox or the plague.

Or, in her case, extreme pregnancy.

She waited patiently until one of the white-robed apprentices recognized her and said, «Oh, Duchess Lucrezia! You should have said - Lady Claudia told us to watch for you.»

«She did?» She hadn't sent a letter she was coming.

«You are staying at the Este house, no? She'll visit this evening, or her brother, or husband.»

«Husband?» asked Lucrezia, startled. She hadn't known Claudia had remarried. It was the kind of thing she'd have thought she'd be told about. «For how long?»

«Oh, only a few weeks. It's all very mysterious.» The apprentice gave an expansive wink that was probably meant to convey a secret romantic love affair.

Lucrezia wasn't fooled. For one, _Claudia_ had been a widow for six years, and owner of the best brothel in Rome; it wasn't like she'd feel any need to hide a romance. For another, whoever the man was, he couldn't have been married. Getting a marriage annulled was difficult if your father wasn't the pope, and she knew about those. So there would have been no need for secrets, unless they were assassin secrets. «I see. Well, I'm in the city until I am delivered of this child. I hope to meet him.»

«I'll let them know.»

Claudia climbed in her window later than night. She'd taken a room with a balcony and left it open in an attempt to make it easier. The unusual thing was that another person climbed in behind her.

«Claudia,» she said, standing up to kiss her. «Sister. And . . . ?»

«Maestro Miles Auditore da Roma,» says Claudia. «My husband.»

Lucrezia wasn't surprised that Claudia hadn't given up her family name. She inclined her head. «Charmed, although I must admit my surprise. I did not think Claudia would remarry.»

«It surprised me too. That she lo - was in love with me,» said Miles.

«Only because you are, in some ways, extremely blind,» teased Claudia, and, yes, Lucrezia could see it.

«You must be a remarkable man, then, Maestro,» said Lucrezia, «For the Auditore to have given you their name.»

«Not so remarkable. I just try to help people, and the rest takes care of itself.»

A very remarkable man indeed. «I see. Are you a doctor too?»

Miles nodded. «But not a midwife, so . . . »

«This part can be done clothed,» said Lucrezia dryly. «Come. I'll tell you what I've learned while Claudia does mysterious female things.»

She hadn't planned to chose the assassins, when she'd left Rome for Este after her father's death. But they hadn't stopped the letters from her son, and had in fact encouraged him to visit her whenever she was in the city. It was more concern than she'd ever had from her brother, and that was enough to convince her to have a second look. What she found . . .

Well, she'd been raised a templar, but the templar way had never alleviated suffering. The assassins, with their quiet patrols and their grand projects, had over those same years managed to almost defeat pickpocketing and summer plague in Rome and were beginning the same kinds of projects in Florence and Milan and Siena. The people still cursed her father's name, but they spoke of the assassins with respect and sometimes even admiration. And that was before the free hospitals, barely after Ezio had started practising his ridiculous-but-effective medicine.

So she'd had a choice: remain as she was, caught in a sort of spiritual limbo where nothing made sense and everything was horrible, or change. Which really was no choice at all.

Being as assassin was better. They spoke well, but in the end no templars actually cared. Assassins, meanwhile, wouldn't even let each other patrol if they seemed a little tired. They cared, in a way Lucrezia hadn't understood at first. Been able to understand. Now when she read the Bible, the things in it were . . . she could imagine someone saying those words with conviction. Belief had become first a habit, then a comfort.

Miles still turned his back while Claudia felt around her stomach and breasts and womanhood, and she reported everything she'd learned at the last meeting. The templar leadership didn't really like her, but they recognized that they owed her a father and a brother, so they also didn't dare throw her out. She continued to attend meetings, and mostly only made small suggestions of ways to improve the templars' standing in the eyes of larger society, which were duly ignored. She listened a very great deal, though.

«That hole they're digging is going to be their grave,» murmured Miles, and she had to agree.

«All right, everything here feels fine,» said Claudia, lowering her skirt again. «And you've been eating your kale?»

«It feels so much better,» admitted Lucrezia. «I won't stop even once the baby comes.»

«Good,» says Claudia. And then, a bit more hesitantly, «Miles has a journey to go on. We may have to go as far as Cin - »

«Further,» said Miles. «Definitely further.»

« - and will not return for some years. Maybe never. Probably never. I won't be able to deliver the baby, sister. I'm sorry.»

Lucrezia looked at Miles. «What journey?»

«Your father wasn't entirely wrong,» said Miles. «The Isu _did_ leave behind a vault. It doesn't really contain weapons, but - you don't really think of a pruning hook or butcher's knife as a weapon, either. It's in another country across the sea, and just to get inside we're going to have to find three keys hidden all over the world.»

«And once you are in?»

«I'll have to kill the spirit of that place. Probably I will have to take her place. But after that the thing inside won't ever be a weapon, ever again.» Lucrezia stared at him, trying to decide if she believed him. She didn't want to, but there was something - «Duchess de Ferrara - »

«Lucrezia, please,» she said. «Even if we are only siblings for a short time, we are siblings, are we not?»

«Lucrezia, then,» said Miles. «Please forgive me for being blunt. I know you do not love your husband, but - he is a not a bad man. He will be a great one, and with the right wife, he might even learn to be a good one. I know it is - frightening - to let yourself know someone to that extent, to _be known_ , but I have found the rewards - they are worth it.» Lucrezia said nothing. «Well. Think on it, at least.»

«I will send letters, as I am able,» said Claudia. «I - sister. Please. Miles is the wisest man I know.»

Abruptly things made sense. Lucrezia said, «You were there, weren't you? The spirit of the Apple.» Miles said nothing, but smiled, and the simple happiness in it transformed his face. She thought about asking how, but really, it made no difference. «And you - would go back? To being a spirit?»

«It's the only way to ensure that thing is never used as a weapon. Someone has to, and I have experience. And if won't be so bad; there is room for two in there.» He smiled again, at his wife this time.

Lucrezia knew that women like Claudia got to choose and women like her didn't, but she'd never wished quite so keenly that she might have. «I hope you know how lucky you are, Miles, in your wife.»

«I know,» said Miles.

«And I wish you luck on your journeys, even though they cost me both of you,» said Lucrezia. It was true, and it hurt. Acts of selflessness always did, for her, even when they also felt good.

But this one, she knew, was going to be important. They had to do it without regrets.

Claudia brightened up, and then so did Miles. «Thank you, sister; perhaps a hug before I go?»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all. Next week I go back to porting things over from my DW.
> 
> IRL, a friend is visiting from Seattle this weekend, and I am excite!!


End file.
